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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29030784">Protect and Serve</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/snae_b/pseuds/snae_b'>snae_b</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Univers - Cops and Robbers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Public Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Oral Sex, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:09:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>84,069</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29030784</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/snae_b/pseuds/snae_b</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The media had penned him a modern day Robin Hood. Aziraphale thought it was a rather fitting moniker, if not a little obvious. They named him so because for the last six months the wealthiest residents of Chicago had fallen victim to a touch of wealth redistribution, so to speak.<br/>As the long arm of the barricade springs to life and lifts into the air the redhead behind the wheel turns to where Aziraphale is standing, tilts his sunglasses down and looks Aziraphale up and down with a smirk. He winks before peeling out and disappearing around the corner into traffic.<br/>Aziraphale stares, mouth open, as the barricade slowly sinks back down at the exit. That smug fucking bastard. The radio crackles quietly on his belt and he cringes. His lungs are screaming at him. His heart thumping wildly in his chest. He drops his hands to his knees and tries to catch his breath. “Fuck.” He hears sirens approaching. “Fuck.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Officer Fell is on the case of a criminal known as the Snake who seems to be implementing vigilante justice all around the city. But the bad guys aren't always what they seem. Turns out, neither are the good guys.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>318</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>170</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yes, I made them American. Blasphemy. I know. </p><p>Hold on to your hats. This one is going to be a rollercoaster ride through all of the feels. This one is gritty but I promise a ton of fluff and smut. Note the tags! I'll update them weekly as necessary. </p><p>Planning to update once or twice a week depending on chapter length. Final chapter count may shift a tiny bit depending on how I end up breaking things down.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“10-80. Suspect is moving west on Elm on foot. Officer in pursuit.” He hits the brakes as the front tire hops onto the curb and slams the car into park. Aziraphale leaps out of his cruiser and races down the street, boots slapping the sidewalk noisily. It is mid-summer and it is peak tourist season. The sidewalks are packed with slow moving groups ogling the city and snapping photos of <em>Lou Malnati’s</em>. Aziraphale rages internally. <em>It’s just fucking pizza, get out of the way!</em> He’s keeping pace with the suspect until a smiling young couple steps directly into his path to take a selfie. He nearly topples over them, knocking the phone out of the stunned woman’s hand in the process. “Police! Out of the way!” He loses sight of the suspect behind a city bus as the distance between them increases and Aziraphale curses under his breath. He slows, scans the street. There. He spots the man again. A blur of copper ducking into a parking structure down the street.</p><p>A burst of static. A muffled voice. “10-17. Backup en route. Officer Fell, what’s your twenty?” Aziraphale scowls, ignores the scratchy chatter coming from his radio and picks up speed again. He rounds the entrance to the looming grey structure and as he moves out of the blistering afternoon sun to the quiet shadowy concrete depths he is hit with a wall of cool air. He stops. Listens. It is never really quiet in the city. Not entirely. He can hear the bustling street outside, vacationers and buskers and retail workers sucking down cigarettes in the alley before they have to hurry back to the till. An ambulance wails in the distance and a helicopter hovers several blocks away. Music drifts in from a restaurant down the street, windows thrown open to let in the summer air. The radio on his hip bursts to life again. “Officer Fell, please report, what’s your twenty?” Aziraphale turns the little black knob on the top of his radio and the scratchy voice fades.</p><p>He creeps further into the structure, eyes adjusting to the dim space. The garage itself is quiet except for an echo of feet hitting the pavement above him. He weighs his options: take the wide spiraling lanes of the garage up in pursuit or use the stairwell and try to cut him off. The stairs will get him higher faster, but if the suspect changes direction he may lose him for good. He eyes the heavy metal door and dimly lit stairwell behind it. He makes a split second decision, takes a chance. He bounds up the stairs three at a time, palm hovering over his holster for a breath before he thinks better of it. The structure is shorter than he is anticipating and he bursts out of the stairwell and back into the blinding sunlight just in time to hear an engine roar to life.</p><p>Opposite him, at the other end of the parking garage, a sleek dark BMW, windows tinted black, lays rubber on the asphalt and fishtails around the bend back down into the garage. Aziraphale curses then turns on his heel and races back into the dank stairwell, throwing himself down the stairs at breakneck speed. He can hear the car’s tires squealing as it tears around the curves of the parking structure. At the bottom of the stairs he flings the door wide, stumbles back outside and skids to a stop. The BMW is sitting at the exit just 20 feet away, the driver casually feeding a crisp white ticket into the slot at the booth. As the long arm of the barricade springs to life and lifts into the air the redhead behind the wheel turns to where Aziraphale is standing, tilts his sunglasses down and looks Aziraphale up and down with a smirk. He winks before peeling out and disappearing around the corner into traffic.</p><p>Aziraphale stares, mouth open, as the barricade slowly sinks back down at the exit. <em>That smug fucking bastard. </em>The radio crackles quietly on his belt and he cringes. His lungs are screaming at him. His heart thumping wildly in his chest. He drops his hands to his knees and tries to catch his breath. “Fuck.” He hears sirens approaching. “<em>Fuck</em>.”</p><p>-</p><p>“Aziraphale, I swear to God, if you ever pull a fucking stunt like that again you’re finished. I’ll ship you down to the fourth so fucking fast you’ll get whiplash.” Captain Michaels is leaning over her desk fuming and jabbing a finger in his direction. Aziraphale half expects steam to come rolling out of her ears or for the top of her head to pop off. Michaels is steely eyed and hard and didn’t get to where she is today by playing the part of a withering violet. She finished academy top of her class and hit the ground running. Even then, though, it was an uphill battle. Chicago PD was the epitome of an old boys club and she earned herself no favor for failing to stay in her lane. She worked twice as hard for a fraction of the recognition but in the end it had paid off and today she ran one of the most prestigious precincts in the city. That meant that every powerful man in the PD was out to cut her down at the knees, and Aziraphale had just handed over the axe.</p><p>“Sir, if I may…”</p><p>“Shut up! I’m not fucking finished yet.” Her eye twitches and Aziraphale clamps his mouth shut. He can see the bulging, wormlike outline of a vein in her forehead. “Do you know what happens to fresh young blood like you down there? They’ll chew you up and then fuck your old lady and <em>then</em> they’ll spit you out just in time for you to catch lead from some piece of shit Disciple. When someone asks for your twenty, you fucking report back. I don’t give a fuck if you’re bleeding out on the pavement. If you hadn’t been trying to play superman we might have finally caught that piece of shit.”</p><p>Aziraphale drops his eyes, fists his hands at his sides. His grey t-shirt is soaked though with sweat under the armpits and on his chest. He can feel it dripping down his spine and soaking into the waistband of his jeans. The overpowered air conditioning makes goosebumps rise on his arms.</p><p>“For six months we’ve been tracking this guy. Six fucking months. The media are having a fucking field day with it. And he was right there. Right in the middle of the city and he just,” she waves her hand through the air, “slips away. Because of you.”  She drops back into the seat behind her and narrows her eyes at him. “Get the fuck out of my office. I don’t want to see you again until you have that report in hand.”</p><p>“Yes sir.”</p><p>He hesitates as she opens her mouth to speak then closes it again. For a fraction of a second her face softens before she summons another scowl. “Look. I know this guy is your white whale. But you’ll never snag him alone. You <em>have</em> to work with me here. With your fellow officers. Stop fucking around.”</p><p>He nods. “Yes sir.”</p><p>She waves her hand toward the door. “Now get the fuck out. For real.”</p><p>Aziraphale nods and trudges out of her office back into the bullpen. He collapses at his desk and drops his face into his hands. It was sloppy work. He knows it and he is kicking himself over it. He should have responded to his fellow officers. To dispatch. He glances at the file on his desk. Everything they had on the man. The file is thin. Sparse. He flips through it quickly. The media had penned him a modern day Robin Hood<em>. </em>Aziraphale thought it was a rather fitting moniker, if not a little obvious. They named him so because for the last six months the wealthiest residents of Chicago had fallen victim to a touch of wealth redistribution, so to speak.</p><p>His first victim was Percy Wallstead, CEO of one of the largest private law firms in the city. Mr. Wallstead raked in an easy eight figures annually and his attractive young wife plastered social media with photos from their luxury yacht every winter as it cruised around the Caribbean. His law firm was rumored to be in the pocket of the mob, although no one in Chicago PD seemed interested in chasing down those leads. You may think the mob hadn’t had its claws hooked in the city since Capone was shipped off to the Rock. You’d be wrong. The gang violence may get the press, but it is the shit going down in quiet that should be scaring people. Aziraphale had a hard time feeling bad for a guy that took home more every couple of weeks than he did all year.</p><p>Aziraphale’s white whale, Mr. Robin Hood, managed to phish just one measly little password from his box of rocks wife and drained just one of his many accounts. One point five million dollars there one instant and gone the next. Poof. Not a trace. The following day charities all over the city had received rather generous anonymous donations. No one seemed able or willing to officially trace the donation back to Mr. Wallstead’s now empty rainy day fund, but for anyone willing to pay attention, to do a little math, it was pretty obvious. Aziraphale had heard through the grapevine that a couple of other offshore accounts, tax havens, really, had turned up empty as well, but Mr. Wallstead never mentioned it during the investigation. Funny that.</p><p>After Mr. Wallstead was one Mr. Miroslav Komarov. Officially, Mr. Komarov had made his fortune in real estate, scooping up downtown lofts when the bubble burst and selling them off at a profit. Unofficially, everyone knew he was trafficking weapons and girls out of Eastern Europe. There was a dedicated team trying to nail Komarov to the wall, but they couldn’t seem to get a charge to stick. They’d set up a bust and end up in an empty warehouse with their thumbs up their asses. Witnesses would end up with a needle in their arm in a crack house on the south side. Evidence would get mishandled or contaminated or disappear.</p><p>Mr. Komarov had woken up on a Tuesday morning one priceless painting lighter than the night before. The painting hadn’t been tracked down, but intel said it was moving through back channels into the vault of a private collector. Aziraphale had word that a shipment of Kalashnikovs had disappeared too, but that was obviously not a job for the police. Tuesday morning the goods are pilfered and by Wednesday night the medical bills for two dozen kids undergoing chemotherapy at St. Jude were paid off by an anonymous donor. The same day the police get a tip that there are a half a dozen women sitting in a shipping container south of the loop. Officers pop the seal and half a dozen women get spared a short sad life “working” for Mr. Komarov.</p><p>It took no time at all for the media to scoop up the story and it spread like wildfire throughout the city and then shortly after to national news. Robin Hood was trending on twitter and evening news networks hosted heated debates over the morality of the vigilante. The case went international when the intrepid do-gooder managed to abscond with the Maserati of a Saudi Royal and pay for the housing for a dozen refugee women and their families on the far north side.</p><p>Since Wallstead and Komarov and the Saudi, Robin Hood had managed to steal, scam, hack, burgle, and grift his way through a half a dozen other victims. All obscenely wealthy and all with seriously questionable histories. Aziraphale was impressed, to be honest. It was hard not to be. Robin Hood left no trace and erased any links between the job and the anonymous donations. It was impossible to get a beat on him.</p><p>While the media and the public largely praised the actions of Robin Hood, at the precinct they called him the snake. Always able to slither in and out without being detected. Slippery and sneaky and threatening. Shed one identity and pick up another on a whim, always camouflaged. No one had even gotten eyes on him until today. Today, the snake had made a mistake.</p><p>His latest victim was one Ms. Veronica Ashby. She was a 23 year old heiress that spent her days on the mag mile and her nights in the latest trendy spot draped head to toe in designer digs. Her favorite pastimes included overdosing in dark booths in the VIP section of exclusive nightclubs and screaming at her criminally underpaid staff. She was also fond of tax evasion, purchasing looted antiquities from the Middle East, and collecting unfathomably expensive jewelry. She had also been investigated briefly for the death of her PA who was found face down at the bottom of her staircase. The case had been mysteriously and abruptly dropped for reasons that Aziraphale couldn’t identify. For the next two weeks Ms. Ashby was supposed to be on a luxury vacation in Thailand spending her days blitzed out of her mind on designer drugs and lounging on a white sand beach.</p><p>This morning Robin Hood, the snake, whatever you want to call him, had managed to slip past the doorman at 132 E. Delaware and take the elevator to the 66<sup>th</sup> floor where Ms. Ashby’s luxury condo was located. He even managed to jimmy the lock and slip into her bedroom completely undetected. When the snake snatched the 65 carat 1.5 million dollar emerald necklace from its custom built glass pedestal, though, he hit a bit of a snag. Weight sensors can be a tricky thing, you see.</p><p>He might never have known if he hadn’t been clever enough to be tapped into the security company’s line. The call went out immediately and within minutes they were dispatching a detail, armed thugs already stepping into the elevator at the ground floor as he was jamming the necklace into a satchel at his waist. The call went out to local dispatch as well. Aziraphale was in the vicinity and responded to the call immediately. Heaven only knows how the man slipped past security and onto the street below, bursting out of the building and onto the busy sidewalk below. He hit the ground running, losing the security detail quickly. But he stuck out like a sore thumb among the sweating masses in his dark long sleeved Henley. Aziraphale crossed paths with the blur of a man a few blocks north as he raced up State Street toward what Aziraphale now knows was his getaway vehicle laying in wait.</p><p>As they raced through the crowded sidewalks Aziraphale was awed by the man’s speed. One look at those long legs, though, made it clear how he managed to stay ahead of Aziraphale so well. Aziraphale was in shape, but he was more of a jogger than a sprinter. Preferred weights to cardio. And dessert to both. And if he carried a little extra padding around the middle, it was nobody else’s business. He was in better shape than half the cops he knew, dammit, and he was certain he was one of few that would have been able to track the snake for as long as he did.</p><p>Before today the snake was a ghost. A faceless entity that was in and out without a trace. Now the ghost had a corporation that could be tracked. That could be identified and subjected to the swift hammer of justice. Aziraphale frowned and got started on his report.</p><p>-</p><p>When Aziraphale left the precinct the sun had dipped below the horizon and some of the muggy heat of the day had abated. Still, though, the damp rings under his armpits grew as he walked through the brightly lit garage toward his car. They say the summers in Chicago make enduring the bitter cold winters worth it. Aziraphale wasn’t sure that he agreed. Every summer the worst of the worst would come out of the wood work and crime would spike. Guns and drugs and assault. A heaviness would settle over the city that the lake breeze couldn’t blow away. He wiped at his brow with the back of his hand and climbed into the stifling heat of his cruiser.</p><p>Though the traffic had thinned from the rush hour crush, it still took Aziraphale almost 45 minutes to cross the city and pull into the lot of the seedy little dive. Inside was dimly lit and a handful of patrons were bellied up to the bar, basking in the cool air from the ancient, shuddering window unit. Aziraphale sat heavily on a barstool, seat cracked and repaired with duct tape. This was the kind of place where no one knew your name and the bartender didn’t give a fuck about your problems. Aziraphale took a look around. The oak bar was heavily worn and smooth on the edges where decades of patrons had leaned in drunken stupor. The wall behind the bar was mirrored and in between the bottles of liquor he could see the single line of faded booths behind him, tabletops a palimpsest of carved graffiti. A heavily bearded man was passed out in the booth in the corner, snoring softly and drooling on his arm, fist still clenched around a bottle of cheap swill.</p><p>The bartender catches his eye from the other end of the bar and raises his brow. Aziraphale knows how he looks. He looks like a fucking cop. Even in plainclothes he is too clean shaven. Too put together. He can feel the man to his right scoping him out, can feel him linger on the cuffs still clipped to his belt, peeking out from the hem of his shirt. Aziraphale holds up a finger and the bartender digs a beer out from under the bar and pops the top before plunking it down in front of him with a scowl.</p><p>It is cheap and weak but it is cold and he downs it all at once before setting it down in front of him and signaling for a second. He nurses this one more slowly and savors the relative anonymity of the bar. He never managed to make friends at the precinct. Didn’t join happy hour. Didn’t attend the Christmas party. Never had much interest to be quite honest. He preferred to work solo.</p><p>Aziraphale had always wanted to be a cop when he was a kid. As a relatively privileged white kid growing up in the city his interactions with the police had always been positive. The local beat cops knew the neighborhood and were just as likely to shovel snow for the widow down the block as they were to throw his father in the drunk tank when he’d had one too many and then give him a ride home the next morning. They ran the local holiday toy drive and played a quick game of pickup at the park and walked the neighborhood instead of wasting their days in their cruisers. At least, that is what Aziraphale saw when he was a boy.</p><p>When he finally joined the PD things had changed. Or maybe things had stayed the same and he just didn’t know. The top brass only cared about the numbers and most of the cops he knew didn’t give two shits about the communities they swore to protect. Half of them actively and openly despised them. He wasn’t on the job six months before he watched his partner take a bribe. The next night that same partner drove off with a local working girl who would end up in the ER with a broken jaw. Three months after that two officers in his precinct roughed up a local CI so badly he suffered permanent nerve damage. And that was a man helping them. He shuddered to think what was going on behind closed doors. Aziraphale was quickly learning that the good guys were not so good. And often times the bad guys were not so bad.</p><p>Aziraphale is on his third beer when the door swings open and brings in a gust of oven hot air from the street. Much like the rest of the patrons, Aziraphale doesn’t look up. He stares down at his beer, glancing only briefly in the mirror behind the bar then back down to his hands. His eyes snap back up. Red hair pulled back into a messy low bun. A few stringy sweaty strands falling loosely around his sharp features. Framing a five o’clock shadow. There are a pair of sunglasses dangling from the unbuttoned collar of his dark long sleeved Henley. The man takes a seat at the far end of the bar and gestures to the bartender.</p><p>Aziraphale would recognize that face anywhere. That cocky smirk before the BMW peeled out and raced toward Clark Street is etched into his brain. As the bartender slides the man a whiskey, neat, in a dirty rocks glass, Aziraphale throws a wad of cash onto the bar and slinks out the door, head dipped low. Back outside in the heat of the night Aziraphale takes a deep breath, fingers the cuffs on his hip and lurks in the darkness just outside the reach of the streetlight. It is quiet here, for the city at least. The humidity eating up the noise of the train and the traffic on one of the main thoroughfares a few blocks west. The seedy little dive bar sits back on a dark side street and while he can see some folks lounging on their stoop down the block passing a forty, there isn’t any foot traffic.</p><p>Ten minutes later the man walks out the door, hands stuffed in his pockets. He glances around briefly, exhales noisily through his nose and starts down the sidewalk toward where Aziraphale is leaning against the exterior of the building. He doesn’t even glance in Aziraphale’s direction as he passes, just saunters by, hips swinging in a cocksure strut. Aziraphale pushes off the wall and falls into step behind him. Matches him step for step. He hangs back by a few feet, but as they approach the parking lot he closes the distance between them with a few hurried steps. The man doesn’t have time to turn around before Aziraphale snaps the cuffs on his right wrist and wrenches his arm behind his back.</p><p>The man lurches forward, scrambles and tries to yank away but Aziraphale is faster. Stronger. He gets a hand on his left forearm and pulls it back roughly to meet the other, clicking the cuffs closed tightly at his lower back. The man growls, “<em>Fuck</em>.”</p><p>Aziraphale says nothing. He grips the man by the back of the bicep bruise tight and pushes him, stumbling, across the parking lot toward the dark corner where he had parked earlier in the night. At the car Aziraphale slams the man into the driver’s side door and kicks his feet apart. The man, chest flush against the car window, grunts and twists his head around to try to get a look at Aziraphale. Aziraphale skims his hands over the man’s shoulders and down his sides. “You carrying anything?” The man turns away and ignores him. He runs his fingers under his waistband then drops to a knee and pats the back and sides of one leg. Repeats the actions on the other.</p><p>Aziraphale stands, grabs the man by the bicep again and spins him around, pressing him back against the car again with a hand to his chest. The man winces as his cuffed wrists squeeze between his body and the unforgiving metal of the dark sedan behind him. Aziraphale runs his hands over the man’s chest and drops again to pat down the front of his legs. He runs his hands roughly over his ankles and calves before sliding them up the fronts of his narrow legs. Aziraphale skims his hands up his inner thighs. His fingertips graze the front of the man’s crotch and he tenses.</p><p>Aziraphale rises to his full height again and leans over the man, palms pressed to the hood of the car on either side of the man’s shoulders. They glare at one another, faces no more than a foot apart. Aziraphale can smell the man’s musky cologne and the Wild Turkey on his breath. He narrows his eyes and the man’s lip quirks into a snarl. Aziraphale exhales. In the blink of an eye the man leans forward and crushes their mouths together.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale leans into the kiss immediately, sucking a lip into his mouth and biting down before plunging his tongue into his mouth. The man hooks a leg up around Aziraphale’s thigh and brings their bodies close together, hip to hip. Chest to chest. Aziraphale drops his hand to the thigh and pulls them together even tighter, fingers digging deeply into the soft give of his flesh. The man groans into Aziraphale’s open mouth. Aziraphale pulls away abruptly, panting against the other man’s lips. He leans his face down and presses kiss after kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek and chin and jaw. Aziraphale closes his eyes, mumbles. “Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He can feel the man grin against him as he continues to plaster him with slow, open mouthed kisses. Works his way below Aziraphale’s ear and nuzzles into the baby soft hairs there.</p>
<p>“You’re getting fast, you know. All that time on the lakefront is really paying off.” His breath tickles Aziraphale’s skin as he speaks.</p>
<p>Aziraphale tilts his head to the side to give him better access to his neck, “That was fucking stupid, Crowley.”</p>
<p>“S’fine. Everything’s fine. Already unloaded the emerald. Took off from Midway in a private Cessna an hour ago.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale groans as Crowley nips at his throat. “That was too close. What the fuck happened?”</p>
<p>Crowley chuckles, “Weight sensor. Wasn’t on the security specs. Shoddy bookkeeping over at <em>Guardian</em>, seriously.”</p>
<p>“We got lucky today.”</p>
<p>Crowley pulls away from Aziraphale’s jaw to look him in the eye, “Nothing fucking lucky about it. This is the reason we have backup after backup for everything. This is why we have alternate exits. This is why we waited a month until your patrol lined up with her travel plans. Everything went exactly as well as it could have.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale scowls, “What about that shit at the garage?”</p>
<p>Crowley chuckles again, “What, did you just expect me to crash through the barricade? This isn’t a fucking action movie.”</p>
<p>“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”</p>
<p>“Relax, all of the cameras in a two block radius mysteriously malfunctioned right around the time I was ogling my gorgeous husband.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale groans, half out of irritation and half because Crowley has gone back to sucking at his throat and grinding their hips together. “I wish you wouldn’t bring Beez into this <em>every</em> time. We’ve gotta keep it small. Contained. Give them a break every once in a while.”</p>
<p>“Beez is small.”</p>
<p>“Fuck off, you know what I mean.” Crowley pushes him away with his shoulder and begins to slide down Aziraphale’s body, catching a collarbone with his teeth through the thin cotton fabric of his t-shirt. “Crowley…” He bites at a nipple and sinks to his knees on the pavement. “Crowley.”</p>
<p>Crowley nuzzles his face against the slight curve of Aziraphale’s belly and sinks lower to mouth at the bulge at Aziraphale’s crotch. “Mm, c’mon baby. You know how I get after a job.”</p>
<p>“Crowley, we’re in public.” Aziraphale protests, but his hand has already come to rest on Crowley’s hair, his fingers catching in the loose waves that have slid from the hair tie.</p>
<p>Crowley huffs out a laugh against the soft denim. “Please. Never stopped you before. ‘Sides… You knew exactly what you were doing when you snapped these bracelets on and got your hands all over me.” He manages to catch the zip between his teeth and pulls it down a couple of inches. “C’mon. Teach me a lesson for today. For making you chase me. You know you want to. I can <em>see</em> that you want to.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale glances around the empty parking lot and back down at Crowley before reaching down to his belt. “Yeah. I knew you wanted it.” Crowley shifts around on his knees, and licks his lips as Aziraphale pulls his already reddened swollen cock from his jeans. He tilts Crowley’s head back with the hand fisted in his hair and Crowley drops his jaw. Aziraphale wipes the leaking tip of his prick across Crowley’s cheek, leaving a sticky shiny streak in its wake and Crowley smiles with his mouth still wide. He guides his cock into Crowley’s hot, eager mouth with a groan and Crowley wraps his lips tight around him.</p>
<p>His mouth is impossibly hot, even in this heat trap of a city. Aziraphale moves his hand from his own cock to Crowley’s jaw and holds him in place as he continues to sink into him. He hits resistance for a moment before Crowley relaxes his throat, eyes fluttering closed and then back open to gaze up at Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale pushes deeper until Crowley’s nose hits the tawny hair at the base of his cock then deeper still until it brushes against his lips. He chokes for a moment, coughs, but a groan rumbles up from Crowley’s chest and Aziraphale can feel him trying to work his tongue along the underside of his cock. He holds him firmly in place. Aziraphale’s fingertips are pressed against his pulse points below his jaw on either side and he can feel his heart beginning to race. His eyes widen, almost imperceptibly and Aziraphale releases his grip and pulls out to let him breathe again.</p>
<p>A flood of saliva accompanies the withdrawal of his dick and spills over Crowley’s chin onto his shirt. Crowley is panting and grinning and already leaning in, chasing Aziraphale with his mouth. Aziraphale smirks, “Insatiable fiend.”</p>
<p>“More…”</p>
<p>Aziraphale tilts his hips forward again and Crowley dips his head to suck him back into his mouth. He bobs his head slowly, pressing and massaging and swirling his tongue in all the right spots until Aziraphale has to brace himself on the car with both hands. A truck rounds the corner and the headlights illuminate them for a split second and a thrill surges through Aziraphale’s body. Everyone they knew would have pegged Crowley for the risk taker. For the daredevil. But Aziraphale enjoyed his fair share of excitement. Especially this kind of excitement. A pressure begins to coil up deep in his belly, that familiar sensation making his knees weak. His hand finds Crowley’s hair again and he grips tightly as he begins to thrust back against Crowley’s mouth, the way they both like it. Crowley’s knees skitter on the ground as he tries to gain traction. Aziraphale drops his face to his forearm where it rests against the car and tries to stifle the moans he can’t hold back. All at once that coiling pleasure in his belly bursts forth and he is spilling in heavy spurts across Crowley’s tongue and into his throat.</p>
<p>“Fuck, oh <em>fuck</em>, Crowley. You’re so fucking good.” Crowley works him through the final throes of his orgasm and sits back on his heels with a wanton grin before struggling to stand. Aziraphale laughs and grips him by the elbow to pull him to him to his feet. “I should leave you in those, you know.”</p>
<p>“Hm, I think I might like that.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale tucks himself back into his jeans and quirks a brow, “I mean, I was going to ask you to drive, but if you aren’t interested….”</p>
<p>Crowley is already spinning around to present the cuffs to Aziraphale, “Off. Offoffoff.”</p>
<p>The tires spray gravel as Crowley accelerates out of the parking lot onto an empty side street. He hits the gas and they tear through the neighborhood toward the Dan Ryan. They merge onto the interstate and despite the late hour the traffic is still heavy. Aziraphale can’t help but grin. He knows what he’s in for. Crowley drives like he fucks. Fast and rough and so well you can’t believe he doesn’t get paid for it. Crowley is already far above the local speed limit as he hits the end of the ramp and weaves between cars until he makes it to the far left lane. Aziraphale sucks in a breath as he smashes the pedal and they surge forward.</p>
<p>Aziraphale reaches out to stroke his thigh and Crowley’s lip quirks. He glances at Aziraphale out of the corner of his eye as he changes lanes to occupy a space between two cars that Aziraphale wasn’t sure the car would fit into.  A surge of traffic merges in from the right and as Crowley moves back into the fast lane. Aziraphale slips his hand to Crowley’s groin and squeezes. His neglected cock is still half hard and he shifts in the driver’s seat with a little whimper.</p>
<p>“Angel. This is only going to make me drive more recklessly.”</p>
<p>“Crowley, you are anything but reckless behind the wheel. Consider it a lesson in distracted driving. May come in handy one day.” Aziraphale leans over and fumbles with Crowley’s fly.</p>
<p>“Angel!” They are approaching the interchange and Crowley thanks Christ that they don’t have to switch to another interstate. Aziraphale pulls him out of his jeans and strokes him lazily. Crowley takes a steadying breath, sticks to the left lane until they are less than half a mile from their exit. At the last minute he leapfrogs through the traffic and back onto the city streets.</p>
<p>At a stop light he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, Aziraphale is still pumping him slowly, teasingly. “You’re going to get us killed one of these days.”</p>
<p>“You should be glad it’s an automatic.”</p>
<p>Crowley snorts. “Never.”</p>
<p>“You love this car.”</p>
<p>“I love that it is technically stealing a cop car.” Now Aziraphale snorts. “I love the Supra.” Crowley opens his eyes and the light turns green.</p>
<p>As they pull into their parking spot Aziraphale briefly considers tossing Crowley into the backseat and fucking him silly right there in the alley behind their building. It had been such a thrill to take Crowley’s mouth in that dirty parking lot next that shitty dive where anyone could have stumbled upon them. One glance at Crowley and he knows he’s thinking the same thing. His eyes flit to the backseat and then back at Aziraphale. He leans back and tucks himself into his jeans. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any lube hidden in here do you?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale sighs. “Afraid not. Guess we’ll just have to fuck in bed like normal people.”</p>
<p>“Oh come now, we can always fuck in the pantry or on the balcony like proper perverts.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale bursts into laughter, “Balcony it is!”</p>
<p>They do, actually, stumble out onto the balcony, lube in hand, for about half a second before retreating back inside, away from the heat. “I love you, Angel, but I can’t focus when we’re sweating so badly our bodies make fart noises. I’m all in for a bit of fun, but I get the giggles so fucking bad.”</p>
<p>In the end, Aziraphale bends him over the couch, <em>next</em> to the balcony, instead, and fucks him silly.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Aziraphale sprawls out on the sheets with Crowley draped halfway over his chest. He traces the lines of ink on his skin. A verdant garden wraps around his arm from shoulder to wrist. Trees and vines and ferns and clover and a dark serpent coiled around the branch of an apple tree. Aziraphale thinks it is beautiful. He sat for many many hours in the shop with Crowley while it was being painstakingly, lovingly, inked into him. He helped to fill the room with jokes and stories and to distract from the pain while the artist worked on the ditch of his elbow and the sensitive skin near his armpit.</p>
<p>“Where did you get the car? It was nice.”  </p>
<p>“Ah that old thing? Borrowed from a friend on the gold coast.” He winks at Aziraphale. “Tucked safe and sound back in the garage, don’t worry. No one will know a thing.”</p>
<p>“You looked good in it. We should get you one. Eventually.”</p>
<p>“Mmm, yeah. Although that Maserati was… oof.” Aziraphale chuckles, continues running his fingers over Crowley’s sleeve in quiet contemplation.</p>
<p>“Michaels really ripped me a new one today.”</p>
<p>“God, she's fucking hot.”</p>
<p>“You’re insufferable. Also, you don't know she isn't in on it all.”</p>
<p>“Still hot.” Crowley runs his hand through the trail of hair on Aziraphale’s belly then wriggles until the sheets slide down off of him, exposing the slight curve of his body. It is hot in their room even with the AC running. Aziraphale can't help but run his hand over Crowley’s back and hip, moving back up to grab a spare handful of his ass.</p>
<p>“That was smart today. Ditching your cruiser.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, didn't want anyone right on my tail with the GPS. Stall a little. Give you a chance to get a head start before backup arrived.”</p>
<p>“It was always under control, you know. You were perfect out there. You put on a good show.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t though. I fucked up. Ignored the radio. Michaels thinks I'm doing the whole superhero with a nemesis thing, but they could put the pieces together. Figure it out. Realize I’m not just totally incompetent at my job.”</p>
<p>Crowley pushes himself up to sit against the headboard, tilts Aziraphale’s face up for a kiss.</p>
<p>“C’mon. It was fine. We're fine. One time. No one is going to make any connections yet.” Aziraphale pulls him down and steals another kiss then gazes out the window at the glittering skyline in the distance.</p>
<p>“Someone might be putting the pieces together. Figuring out the links between the jobs.”</p>
<p>Crowley sighs softly. “They aren’t.” The moonlight makes the sheen of sweat on Crowley’s skin shimmer. Aziraphale leans over and presses a kiss to the inside of his elbow, let's his mouth linger there reveling in the salty taste of him.</p>
<p>“Six months. In six months we'll be done. Burn down the whole damn thing.”</p>
<p>Crowley grins, lays back down and pulls Aziraphale close. “I can't wait to watch it burn.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Aziraphale wakes to an empty bed. It is early but the sun is already high in the sky. It streams in through the window and falls across his legs in warm stripes. He stretches out, takes up space. There is a soft murmur coming from the other side of the bedroom door and he already knows what is afoot.</p>
<p>As he emerges from the bedroom he finds Crowley sprawled on the floor on his stomach wearing just his boxer briefs. He's scratching a tired looking tabby behind the ear. “Who is a good kitty?” She leans into his hand.</p>
<p>“You shouldn't keep feeding her.”</p>
<p>Crowley doesn't look up, keeps stroking the cat on her forehead and shoulders. “If I don't feed her who will?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale snorts. “Everyone else in the building?”</p>
<p>Crowley shoots a dirty look over his shoulder. “They all give her that garbage friskies or whatever. She needs <em>real</em> food.”</p>
<p>“How much are you spending every week on the neighborhood stray anyway?”</p>
<p>Crowley turns back toward the cat. “Her name is Eve and she isn't a stray. She just belongs to everyone.” The cat purrs and rubs along the length of Crowley's side. “Although obviously she likes me best.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale drops onto the floor next to Crowley and rubs his hand down the cats back. “Can't blame her I guess.” The cat jumps into his lap and rubs her face aggressively against his hand. “I don't know why she likes me so much too, though.”</p>
<p>Crowley sits up with a contented look on his face. “Cats know good people. Almost as well as they know people that have allergies. Plus you did bring her catnip last week.” <br/><br/>“That was a one-time thing! I don't even like her!”</p>
<p>Crowley scrunches his face. “You do!”</p>
<p>Aziraphale tries to hide his grin as the cat continues to rub against him, tail wrapping under his chin and flipping back up on the other side.</p>
<p>“When does your shift start?</p>
<p>Aziraphale turns to glance at the clock on the stove and heaves a sigh. “Just over an hour.”</p>
<p>“Still on ten hour shifts or are they putting you back on eight?”</p>
<p>“Ten for now. Should be home by seven tonight.”</p>
<p>Crowley picks at a stray thread on the rug. “Think you can get your hands on the Solomon file today?”</p>
<p>“Michaels is on my ass right now. If she catches me poking around in that, we're fucked. Maybe next week.”</p>
<p>Crowley frowns. “We really need that file.”</p>
<p>“I know, I know. Next week. I promise. I've been buttering up Mrs. Dowling down in records. I'll get it, I promise. I just know for now, Michaels is going to be scrutinizing every little thing I do. Best not to poke the bear. Best not to even <em>look</em> at the bear.”</p>
<p>The cat hops off Aziraphale’s lap and strides back toward the cracked balcony door, slips outside and leaps toward the fire escape.</p>
<p>“What about you. What're you working on today?”</p>
<p>“Surveillance. I still don't know how Gabriel is arranging the drops. If we're going to nail that cocksucker I need photos, minimally. Once we have that, everything else falls into place.”</p>
<p>“Crowley, be careful with him. Please. You know what he's capable of. You know I want him to fall more than anyone, but…”<br/><br/>There is a flash of anger behind Crowley's eyes. “Of course I know what he's capable of,” he snaps. “That motherfucker is going down if it’s the last thing I do. He deserves to rot.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale sighs, “Okay, okay.. Just, promise me you'll be careful. I can't risk losing you... I can't…”</p>
<p>Crowley’s face softens. He reaches out and squeezes Aziraphale’s hand. “You'll never lose me. I'll be careful. I promise.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Who doesn't like a little sneaky snake twist? Next chapter will go up next Tuesday!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Then</em>
</p><p>Aziraphale and Crowley had grown up on opposite sides of the track, quite literally. Aziraphale was born and raised in the relatively affluent neighborhood of Beverly, an Irish Catholic enclave on the southwest side of the city. The streets were mostly clean and the crime was mostly petty and nestled in the middle of the neighborhood among the sprawling lawns and single family homes was a literal Irish castle. It wasn’t the nicest neighborhood in the city, but compared to most of the south side, it was paradise.<br/>
<br/>
Crowley, on the other hand, was from Gresham. Where you're as likely to be a victim of a crime as you were to commit one. Despite being essentially right next door to Beverly, the differences were stark. From one street to the next things changed. Crime rates went up and opportunities went down. Invisible lines were drawn in the sand dictating how likely you were to graduate high school or end up in jail.<br/>
<br/>
Although the day to day was easier in Beverly, life at home was no treat for Aziraphale. His dad worked the line, drunk off his ass most days, only to spend his evenings at the local pub. He’d stumble in long after dark and pass out just to get up at the crack of dawn and do it all over again. The gossip mill liked to dwell on the fact that at least he wasn’t beating on Aziraphale or his mother, but it is easy to find the silver lining when the breadwinner of the family isn’t drinking the bread and tossing you the crumbs. Aziraphale’s mother was resentful of the way people saw her. Resentful that she was burdened with childcare and domestic duties and had to wash her husband’s piss soaked sheets at least once a week. She was bitter and angry and she took it out on Aziraphale, which meant that more often than not he avoided home.<br/>
<br/>
At nine years old Aziraphale had taken to wandering the Woods, a swath of green that separated Beverly from Gresham. Two hundred and fifty seven acres of nature surrounded on all sides by the urban bustle and concrete sprawl. Anyone from outside the city would laugh at the thought of calling them woods, but it was the closest thing to wilderness Aziraphale had ever seen. He spent entire afternoons laying in the grass staring up into the trees, imagining he were anywhere else.<br/>
<br/>
It was on one such afternoon that he first met Crowley. It was an early fall day but the temperature had already dipped, the first taste of winter to come blowing in off the lake. After the heat of the summer it felt especially cold. All of those unacclimated fairweather bodies shivering against what would be welcomed with smiles and bare skin in a few long months. Aziraphale was staring up at the leaves that were slowly beginning to shift yellow and orange and red. Some were drifting slowly down to the ground around him. As he watched the slowly swaying branches, a shadow fell over his face and when he looked for the source he found an awkward string bean of a boy standing next to him, eyes trained on something in the distance, arms crossed over his chest.</p><p>“I don't know why they put benches in if they don't want people to use them.” Aziraphale sat up and looked in the direction the boy was facing. There were a couple of officers ushering a homeless man out of the park.</p><p>Aziraphale frowned. He knew cops to be good. To make good choices and be source of safety. “Well, maybe they are helping him.” It didn’t really look like it.</p><p>The boy snorted. He knew cops to be manipulative. To be self-serving and a source of fear. “Yeah, sure.” He glanced back down at Aziraphale. “Didn't you have a scarf earlier?”</p><p>“Um...”</p><p>“You did. Saw it from across the Woods. Bright yellow. Looked warm as anything.”</p><p>“Well...”</p><p>“Lost it, did you?”</p><p>Aziraphale picked at the grass and mumbled. “I... I gave it away.”</p><p>“You wot?”</p><p>“I gave it away.” He glanced back at the homeless man sheepishly and when Crowley followed his gaze he saw a flash of yellow poking out of his tattered canvas jacket. Crowley looked back at Aziraphale with a grin.</p><p>They watch together quietly until the man was out of sight. “I'm AJ. Kids at school call me Crowley.”</p><p>“I'm Aziraphale.”</p><p>“Want to check out that new comic book store over on Western?”</p><p>Aziraphale shrugs, gets up and brushes off his pants and they start walking.</p><p>And with that magic that children seem to have they become best friends over night. Bonded instantly. Inseparable. Where you found one you found the other.</p><p>Crowley’s home life was no more stable than Aziraphale’s. His mother had abandoned him when he was young and he lived with relatives that were just as likely to rip off the corner store as they were to attend Sunday mass. The fed him and kept a roof over his head, but that is where things ended. He lived a mostly independent existence, wandering the city looking to stir up a little trouble. Where Aziraphale tried to see the good in the world despite his circumstances, Crowley saw hardship and imbalance. They both, though, coped with their situations by reveling in life's small pleasures. Comic books and video games and sweets ghosted out the door with sticky fingers. The calamity and splendor of the annual Irish parade and the first sips of beer stolen from its inattentive attendees. They ran wild in the city, exploring wherever they could by foot and bus and el.<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale is thirteen years old when he first realizes he isn't as interested in the prepubescent girls in his grade as he is in Crowley. He doesn't say anything. Wouldn't dare. He feels confused. Dirty. Ashamed. His catholic upbringing says he is broken. His family has harsh words for people that feel the way that he does. He wouldn’t risk their friendship, although at times the whirlwind of puberty makes it difficult to keep things hidden.<br/>
<br/>
When they are fourteen they share their first joint in the Woods late at night. They breathe deeply and cough harshly and giggle and stare up at the sky and they pretend they can see the stars instead of just the orange glow of the city reflected back to them in the clouds. They wake the next morning tangled on the couch in Aziraphale’s basement and Aziraphale creeps away shamefully for a cold shower before Crowley wakes up.<br/>
<br/>
At fifteen Crowley picks Aziraphale up in a stolen Camaro. His family hasn’t given him much. But they have taught him a few skills. Already introducing him to the family business. They tear up Lakeshore Drive at 70 miles per hour blasting Agent Orange and Minor Threat. Then they turn around and ride it all the way back south. It is by the grace of god that they don’t get pulled over and tossed in juvie. Aziraphale is terrified but completely exhilarated. He trusts Crowley completely. He is his best friend. But he still can't bring himself to say how he feels.<br/>
<br/>
At sixteen Crowley introduces Aziraphale to Beez. Beez is small and angry and eyes Aziraphale suspiciously the first time they meet.</p><p>“This is the guy?” Beez stares at Aziraphale who just smiles dumbly at them.</p><p>Crowley smiles, “This is Zira.”</p><p>Beez lifts an eyebrow “Him?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“The guy you won't shut up about?”</p><p>Crowley’s jaw clenches. “Beez...”</p><p>“The ‘angel?’” Beez air quotes.</p><p>His jaw drops, “Beez!”</p><p>“He isn't <em>that</em> cute.”</p><p>“Beez shut up!”</p><p>They roll their eyes. “I don't know what you're worried about, he's clearly gay.” Aziraphale’s eyes go wide and flit rapidly between Beez and Crowley.</p><p>“Oh my God Beez!” Crowley socks them in the arm and rushes out the door, face beet red.</p><p>Aziraphale stares at Beez. Then at the door. Back at Beez. They cross their arms and sneer. “Go get him then!” Aziraphale is out of his seat in half a second and rushes toward the door. Beez shouts after him. “And you're welcome!”</p><p>Aziraphale finds Crowley on the stoop, knees drawn up against his chest and long arms wrapped around his shins. When he sees Aziraphale he drops his face to the tops of his knees and groans.</p><p>Aziraphale sits next to him and stares at the empty street, hands fidgeting in his lap. They sit together in that pregnant silence for what feels like a lifetime before Crowley finally mumbles against his knees.</p><p>“Look Zira... I...” He lifts his head to turn toward Aziraphale. He takes a shuddering breath and Aziraphale notices for the first time that he's been crying. His eyes are puffy and red rimmed and his cupids bow shines with snot. Aziraphale wants to reach out. Soothe him in some way. But he isn't sure how. His parents don’t show him physical affection. They rarely show him any affection at all. When Crowley and Aziraphale touch, they touch the way most teenage boys touch. Slaps on the back, high fives, an occasional arm thrown over a shoulder. There is always a calculated distance between them. A gender appropriate level of intimacy.</p><p>Crowley tries again, “I'm... look, if you don't want to be friends with me anymore, I get it.”</p><p>Aziraphale can’t stand how broken Crowley looks. <em>Fuck gender appropriate levels of intimacy</em>. Aziraphale leans in and kisses him. It is hardly a kiss, really. Just two mouths smashed together with no finesse. Aziraphale with his eyes squeezed shut tight and Crowley’s almost bulging out of his skull.</p><p>Aziraphale doesn't know what to do with his lips, let alone with his hands. He's never kissed anyone before. Crowley has a touch more experience with a handful of girls in dark basements and behind the bleachers at school. Desperately trying to stoke a fire using an ember he's cradled and carried with him from when Aziraphale leaned too close or when their thighs brushed together on the bus. He knows, at least in principle, what to do, but at that exact moment he has completely lost control over every single one of his faculties.</p><p>Aziraphale yanks away. When he finally opens his eyes he can't find it in himself to look at Crowley, who is staring at him dumbstruck. He looks down at his lap. There aren't butterflies in his stomach. There is an uncaged, ravenous lion wreaking havoc on his insides instead. Ripping him to shreds. He wants to laugh and to puke and more than anything to kiss Crowley again. Maybe actually properly this time. He wants it so badly that he summons up every ounce of courage in his body and looks up at Crowley and speaks.</p><p>“Crowley, I don't want to be your friend anymore.”</p><p>Despite the kiss, Crowley blanches and winces at the words. Aziraphale takes his hand with trembling fingers. The blood is rushing in his ears so loudly he can hardly hear himself as he speaks again. “I want to be more than that.”</p><p>Beez would later admit, under the influence of more alcohol than anyone would imagine could fit in their tiny body, that they had no idea either were even gay. They were just tired of hearing Crowley talk about Aziraphale and wanted to embarrass him. Although Crowley had, mortifyingly, called Aziraphale an angel in passing. That much was true. Beez would, however, forever claim credit for setting them up and apologize to anyone that would listen for creating the most obnoxious couple they'd ever met.</p><p>-</p><p>
  <em>Now</em>
</p><p>When Aziraphale steps through the door an hour later than he anticipated, he is slammed in the chest with a solid, heavy weight. He catches himself on the doorframe with one hand as he stumbles backward and his other instinctively grasps the thigh squeezing tightly around his waist.</p><p>“AJ!”</p><p>Crowley clasps his hands around Aziraphale’s neck, fingers interlaced at the nape, and leans back, grinning. “I did it. I figured it out. I know how they're setting up the drops.” He kisses Aziraphale on the mouth quickly. “Take me to bed right now. I'm so fucking horny over it. Seriously.” He locks his ankles together at the small of Aziraphale’s back. “Bed. Now. Fuck. Now.” He punctuates each word with another kiss.</p><p>Aziraphale fixes him with a look. “I just got done with an eleven hour shift. I'm starving. My feet are killing me. I'm disgusting.”</p><p>Crowley pouts a little but hops down. “Fine. Here. Go take a long hot shower, I'll order food and when you get out I'll rub those feet. And then after dinner…” He raises an eyebrow.<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale chews on his cheek. “How about a hot bath, and you rub my feet during. After you order dinner, of course. <em>Then</em> after dinner...”</p><p>Crowley beams. “Deal. Drop your shit and I'll run the bath.” He is already poking at his phone. “Thai? Indian?”</p><p>-</p><p>Aziraphale sinks into the comfort of the scalding water with a moan. The steam rising off the surface smells like eucalyptus and it tingles his nostrils. The bath is no soaking tub. No claw feet to be seen. His knees protrude from the water and he doesn't sink deeper than his nipples, but it is everything he wants right now, especially as Crowley slips in through the door.</p><p>Crowley sits down on the edge of the tub with two cold beers clutched in his hand. He hands one to Aziraphale and takes a long swig before dipping his fingers into the water and trailing them down Aziraphale’s leg. He slides them down under his calf and lifts the leg out of the water into his lap, ignoring the water soaking through his jeans. His fingers stroke the bottom of Aziraphale’s foot, pressing into rough flesh and kneading at his heel.</p><p>“Tell me about your day.”</p><p>Aziraphale sips his beer. “Not much to tell. Daggers from Michaels all day and hoofing it around to get statements about the snake”</p><p>Crowley smirks. “Anything?”</p><p>“Nada. I'm the only one that got a look at him.” He winks.</p><p>“Oh, please, do tell. What does this snake look like?”</p><p>“Oh you know. Balding, hunchback, porn stache. I hear he gives great head though.” Crowley laughs. “Nah, really though. Stuck with the basics. White male, six feet, average build. Dark hair. Close enough I won't get shit if they get another ID. Not enough to single you out.”</p><p>Crowley runs his hands up Aziraphale’s ankle and works his fingers into the tense muscles of his lower leg. “Oh God, that's good.” He lets his head thunk back against the wall and enjoys the attention for a minute before he speaks again. “Ok. I know you're dying. Tell me.”</p><p>Crowley bounces on the edge of the tub. “I finally fucking figured it out. Every few days he goes to that same bench with a coffee and the paper, right? And he always, always dumps the paper in the same trash can. And clearly someone is getting a message, but I didn't know how. I thought maybe he was leaving something in the paper, so I paid someone to snag it.”</p><p>“You paid a homeless man to take the paper didn't you? I hope you made it worth his while.”</p><p>“No! No.” He focuses on Aziraphale’s leg, works his thumbs into the warm flesh.  “A homeless woman actually. Lovely woman. But yes, she made out very well. Anyway. Got the paper. Nothing in it. Exact same as any other paper. No writing or anything. I tried black light and UV and heat and lemon juice, you know, all that shit. No dice. Didn’t matter anyway because I staked it out and no one ever picked up the stupid paper. So whoever was getting the message, was getting it from a distance, right?” Crowley is getting animated, gesturing wildly and taking Aziraphale’s foot along for the ride.</p><p>“Then I noticed it was folded differently from one day to the next. So I snapped photos every day for two months from the hotel over the square. Thought maybe the folds marked words or letters or numbers or that the angles or length of the fold was important. Stared at that shit for hours. Fucking <em>hours</em>. Couldn't crack it. And then today. Fucking <em>today</em>. It hit me. It isn't about the damn newspaper at all. It is the fucking coffee cup!”</p><p>Aziraphale raises his brows.</p><p>“It was the coffee cup the whole time! I wasn't even looking at it. I was so fixated on that fucking paper. I swear to god I never want to see another newspaper in my fucking life.”</p><p>Aziraphale chuckles. “So what was it about the coffee cup?”</p><p>Crowley lowers Aziraphale’s leg back into the water, takes a swig of his beer, scoops out the other leg and gets to work.</p><p>“You know how you go to Starbucks or whatever and they put your name and order and whatnot on the side? Well, it didn't say “Gabriel”. Just a string of letters and numbers. So I went back and checked my photos and, well I didn’t always get the cup in focus or from the right angle because I was so focused on the paper, but sure enough, different every day. Repeating every once in a while. So I dug out all of the photos and looked at them and duh. So obvious. So <em>stupidly</em> obvious. It's just street numbers. Cross streets. Addresses.”</p><p>Aziraphale groans as Crowley really digs into a knot on the back of his leg.</p><p>“So I look a couple of them up on Google Maps. The numbers are just intersections, not full addresses, so they must know the locations or have a sign or something and they just rotate at random. On the south side, up north too, a couple way out west, I’m still working on recording the intersections. They drop at a specified location and then somehow that money gets to him and problems disappear.” He frowns.</p><p>Aziraphale throws back the dregs of his beer. “Crowley, you did it! We’ll stake out a couple locations. Follow the money. We’re going to do this. We’re going to expose the corruption and the bribes and the cover-ups. And Gabriel is going to rot in jail with all of the people that didn’t have the money to stay out.”</p><p>Crowley smiles and lifts his foot and kisses the top of it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Check back tomorrow for more!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the end they order Greek, proximity to Greektown and the possibility of food arriving quick winning out over other options. The bag comes brimming with Mousaka and keftedes and dolmades. Crowley adds a double helping of baklava to the order even though Aziraphale pretended he wasn’t interested.</p>
<p>Aziraphale catches a flaky crumb with his tongue and licks sticky sweet honey off of his fingers. “You know me too well.”</p>
<p>“Angel, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you pass on dessert. Alexandros would have tossed them in the bag anyway assuming we forgot somehow.” Aziraphale laughs and pops the last bite of baklava into his mouth.</p>
<p>“I think that means we should cut back on ordering in.”</p>
<p>Crowley eyes the empty take out containers and glances back at Aziraphale. “So. I believe we had some after dinner plans?” He ignores Aziraphale’s exaggerated eye roll and flops a leg over his lap. He had shed his sopping wet jeans before Aziraphale had even dragged his aching tired bones out of the tub, opting to weather the still rising mercury in his boxer briefs. He tugs at Aziraphale’s sleeve. “What do you say?”</p>
<p>“You know I don’t know how to say no to you.” His fingers are already stroking at the outside of Crowley’s thigh. Crowley grins, heaves himself the rest of the way onto Aziraphale’s lap and drapes his arms over his shoulders.</p>
<p>“You do too.”</p>
<p>“When was the last time I said no to you? About anything.”</p>
<p>Crowley scrunches his face, glances out the window. “I can think of a time or two.” His hand crawls up into Aziraphale’s hair, finds the jagged three inch scar hidden under the blond curls. Aziraphale grabs his hand, brings it to his lips, kisses his knuckles.</p>
<p>His voice is soft. “Not letting you get yourself locked up for the rest of your life doesn’t count.” He lets go of Crowley’s hand and reaches behind himself to grab the collar of his shirt to pull it over his head. Crowley mirrors him, pulls his own shirt off and leans in to kiss him, hands tangling up into his hair again. He doesn’t mean to keep brushing his fingers over that scar, but he can’t seem to avoid it. They run over its length time and time again. When they aren’t in his hair they skate over the raised line that runs from just under Aziraphale’s sternum all the way to the waistband of his boxers, skirting around his belly button along the way. They trace the full length down, follow that slight curve then back up. He is distracted. Lost in thought as Aziraphale kisses him</p>
<p>Aziraphale recognizes what he is doing. The memories he must be revisiting. He takes Crowley’s hands gently, pulls them away from the scar. He presses them behind his back and holds them in place in one fist. Crowley doesn’t resist. Sometimes he needs this. Aziraphale kisses along Crowley’s collar bone, follows it out to the bony knob where it meets his shoulder, whispers against it. “Relax. Don’t think about it.” Crowley nods, eyes closed, and lets his head fall to the side so Aziraphale can get at his throat where he sucks gently, careful not to leave a bruise. Always conscious of leaving some kind of identifying mark. Of accidentally getting Crowley caught when he is on a job. He releases Crowley’s hands and tugs at his boxer briefs. Crowley lifts his hips, lets him slide them down to his thighs. He lifts his knees to his chest and pulls them down his shins, discarding them beside the couch.</p>
<p>Aziraphale lifts his hips, and Crowley along with them, to slide his own boxers off. They go the way of Crowley’s briefs. He pulls Crowley tight against him so that their cocks are pressed side by side between their hot clammy bellies. Crowley gropes around behind his back to find the bottle of lube, discarded on the coffee table the night before among empty take out containers and junk mail and a dog eared copy of <em>Dune</em>, and slicks Aziraphale’s fingers generously. He works him open quickly, suddenly desperate to be inside of Crowley, to make him feel good. To distract him. To love him. As Crowley sinks onto him Aziraphale pulls their bodies close, arms vice tight around his ribcage, face buried against his chest. Crowley wraps his arms around his head, fingers fisted around two handfuls of hair, and presses his face down into the thick locks to breathe him in. He squeezes his calves and knees tight against the sides of Aziraphale’s body as he begins to move in his lap. He tilts his hips forward and back, slowly at first. Enjoying the sensation of being full. Stretched tight.</p>
<p>The quiet of the night is punctuated only by their labored breathing as they move against one another. Aziraphale drops his hands to Crowley’s ass to spread him wide and pull him deeper onto his cock, rocking him forward and back in a grinding motion, making Crowley groan quietly into his hair where his face is still buried. A bolt of lightning splits the sky and lights up the room through the balcony doors. Several seconds later it is followed by a deep rumble of thunder. The first raindrops of a summer storm tick against the glass. Crowley finally pulls his face away but keeps his hands fisted in Aziraphale’s hair. Aziraphale, reluctantly, lets him put a couple of inches between their bodies so he can begin to bounce up and down on his lap instead of just rocking against him. Heels digging into the leather sofa beside his thighs. He stares up into Crowley’s face. His brows are pinched together and his jaw is clenched tight. He wonders if he’s drifting again and leans in to kiss his chest, his lips dragging against the skin as he moves up and down.</p>
<p>Aziraphale reaches between them and tugs at Crowley’s cock, watches his expression change. Watches him come back to the moment. His mouth falling open, head dropping forward. Aziraphale can feel his abs tighten as his knuckles brush over them with each stroke. He bounces faster and harder in Aziraphale’s lap. His fingers clench tighter in his hair and Aziraphale’s body jerks in response. Crowley is mumbling and Aziraphale strains to hear what he is saying, leans closer to his lips. “Everything… you’re everything.” He sucks in a breath and his legs begin trembling against Aziraphale’s ribs. Aziraphale tips them over onto the couch and flips Crowley onto his back, knees wrenched up by his shoulders. He gets a grip on Crowley’s waist, braces a foot on the floor and pounds into him, one hand still pumping between their bodies. Crowley’s eyes fly open. He arches his back up off the couch and shouts, “Oh <em>GOD</em>!” as he spills between them in heavy, sticky spurts. A moment later Aziraphale follows with a low groan, pulsing hot inside of him.</p>
<p>Aziraphale slips out of him and sits up to lean back against the arm of the couch, his legs thrown wide around Crowley who is still laid out on his back, his body twitching with aftershocks every few seconds. They are illuminated by another flash of lightning and Crowley turns toward their balcony doors furrowing his brow. “Did you turn the lights off?” Aziraphale turns toward the kitchen. The clock on the stovetop is dark.</p>
<p>“Power’s out.”</p>
<p>Crowley pokes at the mess on his belly. “Hardly even raining yet.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale reaches out and strokes Crowley’s leg. “I can’t remember the last time the power even went out. Maybe when we were kids? Aren’t the lines buried?” He reaches a hand down and snatches his boxers off the floor, uses them to wipe off his hand and dick then tosses them to Crowley who dabs at his belly with them. He scrunches his nose as he digs into his belly button.  </p>
<p>“Maybe a transformer blew?” He reaches the boxers between his legs and wipes at himself with a frown before dropping them back on the floor.</p>
<p>His mobile buzzes on the coffee table. Aziraphale snatches it up and tosses it to him. The screen lights up Crowley’s face. His brows draw together then he throws his head back and barks out a laugh. He tosses the phone to Aziraphale.</p>
<p>
  <em>BEEZ 9:45 pm: The whole fucking neighborhood can see you</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>BEEZ 9:48 pm: gross</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>BEEZ 9:50 pm: TURN OFF UR LIGHTS</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>BEEZ 9:51 pm: FINE FUCK YOU. I’LL DO IT FOR YOU</em>
</p>
<p><em>BEEZ</em> <em>10:06 pm</em>: <em>I’ll turn them back on for a grand</em></p>
<p>Aziraphale glances toward the balcony doors and laughs. “I guess we were kind of on full display there, huh?”</p>
<p>“Whatever, like you didn’t know. You are a total exhibitionist.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale tickles the bottom of his foot making his leg jerk violently away. “You would be too if you were married to you.” Crowley rolls his eyes.</p>
<p>The rain picks up. It comes down in sheets against the windows. Crowley sits up, leans in for a kiss. He trails his fingers over the scar on Aziraphale’s belly again. Aziraphale sighs, moves his fingers away from it for a second time that night and holds them in his hands. “Stop dwelling on it.”</p>
<p>“I’m not dwelling. It’s just been on my mind lately.”</p>
<p>“That <em>is </em>dwelling.” He tugs on Crowley until he shifts around and leans back against his chest. Aziraphale wraps his arms around him. “I’m fine. We’re fine. I get my flu shot every year. It isn’t a big deal.”</p>
<p>“It <em>is</em> a big deal. Monumental. Aziraphale, you have no idea what it was like. Finding you like that. Waiting in that <em>fucking</em> hospital. No one giving me the time of day. No one would tell me <em>anything</em>. It was like being invisible.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale holds him tighter. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. I just mean I’m fine, <em>now</em>.”</p>
<p>“You could have been dead for all I knew.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t though. Because of you.”</p>
<p>“There was so much blood, Angel. <em>So</em> much. And I should have…  I should have done <em>something</em>.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale sighs. They’ve had this conversation over and over for nearly a decade. “Crowley you know you couldn’t have stopped him. He would have killed you if you tried.”</p>
<p>“I ran. I <em>hid,</em> Aziraphale. Like a coward.”</p>
<p>“You did exactly what I asked you to do.”</p>
<p>“I am the one that pulled you into that alley. I should have tried…” Aziraphale can feel him beginning to shake. That burbling font of emotion rising up. Threatening to erupt. He cuts him off before he can get started.</p>
<p>“Anthony, <em>enough.</em> It wasn’t your fault. And he would have shot you. Right in the fucking street. Right in front of me. And no one would have done a damn thing about it. So <em>enough</em>. You need to accept that. That you made the <em>right</em> choice, even if it was a hard choice.” Crowley slumps. Aziraphale knows he is pouting. He kisses his shoulder then rests his head there and lets their temples fall gently together. “AJ, I love you.”</p>
<p>Crowley continues to sulk, turns his face away from Aziraphale. He mumbles toward the opposite shoulder. “Love you too.”</p>
<p>“You know. If it weren’t for the whole thing, we probably wouldn’t have gone out and gotten a civil union at nineteen.”</p>
<p>Crowley turns toward Aziraphale with the hint of a grin on his lips. “No fucking doctor was going to keep me in the dark again. No way.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale kisses his brow. “Remember when they passed the bill in 2013?” Crowley is still trying to fight the grin taking over his face. “Do you remember what you said to me?”</p>
<p>Crowley finally loses the fight, a full smile brightening his face. “‘I’m going to marry the shit out of you.’” Aziraphale laughs. “I did, too. I married you so hard.” Crowley’s whole body shakes as Aziraphale laughs behind him. The movement pulls a couple of giggles out of Crowley too, even though he would have preferred to continue pouting.</p>
<p>“I still can’t believe you convinced Beez to get ordained.”</p>
<p>Crowley snorts. “I had to pay for those fucking Satanic Temple lessons, by the way. And the ordination only lasts for a year!”</p>
<p>“Speaking of Beez. Text them. Get our power back on. And tell them to stop spying on us. And to stop hacking into the electrical grid. I bet our whole fucking block is out.”</p>
<p>Ten minutes later the lights click on and Crowley flips the bird to the window. They click back off. Aziraphale sighs loudly as he scoops up the containers from <em>Greek Islands</em> and tosses them into the trash. “Crowley…” he hears a snort from the dark living room and the lights click back on again. Aziraphale leans out of the kitchen and puts his hands up in a “sorry” gesture.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>It is late by the time they finally make it to their room, but Crowley flops down into bed with his laptop and gets to work. The storm has passed over the city and has left cool air in its wake. Aziraphale opens a window and lets the rain smell flood into their small bedroom, musty and earthy and sweet. Eve jumps up onto the bed and Aziraphale scowls at Crowley who very pointedly ignores him. Crowley has a photo editor open in one window and an excel spreadsheet in another. He scrolls slowly through the dump of newspaper photos and painstakingly copies the text from the coffee cups into the spreadsheet. Eve walks across the keyboard and Crowley has to re-enter a string of numbers.</p>
<p>“How many photos do you have?”</p>
<p>“Well… hundreds of photos, but I only got 26 days of surveillance. Like I said though, cup isn’t always in focus so I have to trawl through all this shit to try to find a good angle.”</p>
<p>Eve curls up next to Crowley and he scritches her on the head absently. “You can’t keep her in here all night, you know. We don’t have a litter box.”</p>
<p>Crowley waves him away. “Left the balcony door cracked. She’ll slip out when she feels like it.”</p>
<p>“You spoil that cat, you know. She spends more time in bed with you than I do.”</p>
<p>“She isn’t a fan of sleeping rough.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale chuckles. “Don’t stay up too late.” Aziraphale settles into bed and drifts off to the sound of Eve purring and Crowley’s fingers on the keyboard.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm too impatient, so I'll be updating with 3 chapters per week for a while. Keep an eye out for a new chapter tomorrow!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warning for homophobia/homophobic language, violence, blood. Mind the tags! ^</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Then</em>
</p>
<p>It happened when they were nineteen years old. By then they had rented a shitty basement efficiency with drafty windows and peeling paint and terrible water pressure. It was cold and dark and tiny but it was the first place that had felt like home for both of them in a long, long time. Aziraphale was taking night classes at a community college and bussing tables during the day. Crowley was working odd jobs. He tended to supplement their income with less than legal activities. Aziraphale tried to stay out of it as best he could, but every once in a while Crowley would show up in a high end car and they would joy ride around the city. It was risky and stupid but they were still kids. Their brains hadn’t developed that full appreciation for consequences and as teenagers tend to do, they felt invincible. They hadn’t been given any reason to feel otherwise yet. That would change.</p>
<p>It was a day like any other. Until it wasn’t. They are walking down the street, pinkies brushing together from time to time. It wasn’t always safe to be out in the city, not in the places they frequented. Especially not on the street where it was easy to chuck a bottle or some other rubbish from a moving vehicle. Especially not in this neighborhood, where there seemed to be family and acquaintances lurking around every other corner. It isn’t a particularly nice day. The first tulips and daffodils had peeked their foreheads out of the soil but the spring breeze was still biting, blowing in off the frigid depths of Lake Michigan.</p>
<p>Crowley pulls his collar up and shivers against the persistent wind. His nose and cheeks and the tips of his ears are bright pink. Aziraphale was always after Crowley to dress warmer. Clucking at him like a mother hen. He smiles and slips his beanie off of his own head and tugs it onto Crowley’s. Crowley glances around. The sun is just starting to dip below the tops of the buildings, casting long slanting shadows on the street. The sidewalk is mostly empty. A few commuters bustling away from the Metra, heads bowed down against the wind. He takes Aziraphale by the hand and they dip into a quiet alley.</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughs. “What is this?”</p>
<p>Crowley smiles and takes one last glance around. “Just wanted to say thank you.” He ducks his head and kisses Aziraphale softly. Aziraphale leans into it, wraps his arms around his waist. Kisses him back more deeply.</p>
<p>“What the fuck are you doing?!” Aziraphale jerks away, heart pounding immediately.</p>
<p>“Oh god…” he turns to Crowley, eyes wild. “Go. Get the fuck out of here. Run. Now.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s eyes dart rapidly between the silhouette moving down the alley toward them and Aziraphale’s terrified expression. “Anthony, go! Please, I’m begging you. Please.” Aziraphale is shoving him away, urging him to move. Begging him to move. The shadow walking toward them is reaching toward his hip. Crowley spins and as he runs toward the other end of the alley he can hear boots on the ground behind him.</p>
<p>“You better run you fucking faggot! If I see you again you’re fucking dead!” Crowley slows a block later when he realizes he is no longer being chased. He darts into the next alley and sinks to the ground next to a dumpster. He is overcome with panic. His whole body is trembling. He can’t think straight.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>The shadow turns around and advances back down the alley toward where Aziraphale is still standing. He breathes a sigh of relief that Crowley has disappeared around the corner and the wrath is fixated back on him. He is sure he can handle this. That he can defuse the situation. And even if he can’t, he would never allow Crowley to get hurt. He’d jump in front of the bullet every time.</p>
<p>The man is jabbing a finger in Aziraphale’s direction. “I knew there was something off about you.” He spits the words out and crowds Aziraphale backwards toward the crumbling brick wall of the building. He towers over him.</p>
<p>Aziraphale backs away, palms up. “Gabriel…” He doesn’t have a chance to finish before the man fists his coat and slams him against the building. His head connects with a sickening crack and his vision goes black for a moment. Gabriel is shouting something into his face but he can’t hear him. Everything is muffled. When his vision comes back to him it is swimming. He blinks, tries to focus on the blurry shape in front of him. He feels like he is going to puke. There is a high pitched whine in his ears. He tries to speak but the words don’t feel like they are forming quite right in his mouth. Gabriel must release his grip because suddenly he finds himself on the ground. He blinks again, trying to focus. He manages to roll onto his side and get a palm on the ground, pushes up to hands and knees.</p>
<p>There is something dripping steadily onto the ground under his face and he stares at it. He can’t figure it out. Wonders briefly if it started raining. As he is staring at the strange puddle beginning to form beneath him the sharp toe of a boot meets his abdomen. He can hear his ribs crack more than he can feel them. The impact knocks all of the air out of him. He gasps over and over but no matter how hard he tries he can’t seem to pull any oxygen into his lungs. He slumps forward into that sticky warm puddle and the boot finds his ribs and stomach again. And again. And again. He tries to curl around himself, to protect that soft vulnerable expanse. He still can’t breathe. His throbbing head spins. The last thing he remembers before he loses consciousness is the sound of Gabriel spitting and then his boots clomping back down the alley toward his cruiser.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Crowley has no idea how long he stays huddled next to that dumpster before he slinks back down the block, heart drumming wildly in his chest. Even in his panic he knows he needs to get back to Aziraphale. To make sure everything is ok. He peeks back down the alley and at first glance it appears empty. The cruiser is no longer parked across the entrance and he breathes a sigh of relief. Gabriel is gone and now he can just hunt down Aziraphale and they can go home together. Start looking for a way to get out of this neighborhood for good. He goes to turn back out onto the street when something catches his eye. A light colored swath of fabric poking out between a couple of dumpsters near the far end of the alley. His blood rushes in his ears. He bought Aziraphale a silky soft cream colored cashmere scarf for Christmas the year before. They didn’t have much money, but he stowed some cash away every month so he could get him something nice. Something special. Aziraphale hardly ever took it off. He walks, slowly at first, down the alley that is growing steadily darker by the minute. Three steps in he breaks into a run. The cream scarf transitions to an ugly brown red the more that it comes into view.</p>
<p>“No. No. Nonononono.” As he rounds the dumpster he falls immediately to his knees. Aziraphale is curled on his side, arms still wrapped loosely around his body. His platinum hair is dark and wet. A trail of blood has trickled over his ear and across his jaw and chin. Crowley is vaguely aware of a screeching reverberating through the alley and realizes he is screaming Aziraphale’s name. He presses his hand to the sopping mess on the back of Aziraphale’s head. It feels soft and is so hot in the bitter cold air. A stranger steps into the alley and Crowley begs them to call an ambulance, tears streaming down his face. Aziraphale’s eyes flutter and Crowley sobs. He leans down over his broken body and kisses his forehead.</p>
<p>“Please, please. God, Aziraphale. Please wake up.” Aziraphale groans quietly, curls in on himself more and another sob wrenches out of Crowley’s throat. “I’m here. I’m right here. I’ve got you.” One hand is still pressed against the back of his head, trying desperately to quell the bleeding. His other is cupping the underside of Aziraphale’s face, trying to cushion him against the cracked asphalt he is laying on.</p>
<p>The stranger is at his side. “I called the police. An ambulance is on the way. They should be here soon.” Crowley nods but doesn’t look away from Aziraphale. “What happened, baby? Who did this?”</p>
<p>Crowley sobs again. He can’t catch his breath. The stranger reaches out and puts one hand on Crowley’s back and the other on Aziraphale’s leg. Crowley leans down again until his forehead touches Aziraphale’s. They sit like that until the paramedics arrive. The stranger pulls him gently away as they lift Aziraphale onto a stretcher. He cries out as they roll him onto his broken ribs and Crowley lurches toward him, desperate to do anything, anything at all to comfort him, but they hold him back. Push him away so they have space to work. He wants to ride in the ambulance with him, tries to climb in, but they hold him back again. He doesn’t understand. He begs. They tell him the hospital name but he can’t focus. He can’t parse out what they are saying to him. He forgets immediately. They close the doors and pull away from the alley with their sirens blaring and all Crowley can do is stare after it sobbing.</p>
<p>He nearly crumples to the ground again but the stranger is there and wraps an arm around his waist. Props him up. “Come on sweetie. I’ve got a car around the block. I’ll drive you to the hospital.” Crowley looks at her for the first time. Springy red hair and too much mascara and deep crow’s feet. He looks back down at himself. His hands and coat and knees are stained brown-red. He stares at his hands. At the blood drying under his nails and in the cracks of his knuckles. He can’t breathe. <em>He can’t breathe</em>. He gasps loudly. Tries desperately to suck down air. He can’t stop staring at his hands. He is still gasping as the stranger pulls him into an embrace, cups a hand on the back of his head and rocks him until at last he sucks in a breath and it feels like it actually reaches his lungs.</p>
<p>“Everything is going to be ok. It’s ok. Let’s go. Come on. Let’s go.” She leads him to her car and helps fold him into the front seat. He is still staring at his hands. She buckles him in and strokes his hair. And they drive.</p>
<p>At the hospital no one will tell him where Aziraphale is. They won’t update him on his status. Crowley isn’t family. He doesn’t have the right to that information. He begs. Then when that doesn’t work he screams. Eventually he tries begging again, but it is also mostly screaming. They threaten to call security and eventually he slinks away from reception and takes a heavy seat with his head in his hands. Everyone in the room is staring at him. He doesn’t notice.</p>
<p>The stranger is still with him. She pulls him into the women’s restroom and gently washes his hands and wipes at his face until he gets irritated. She rubs his back and holds his hand and buys him coffee that goes cold on the little table next to him among the <em>Highlights</em> magazines and newspapers and domestic violence pamphlets. She sweet talks a resident. She is good at getting people to talk to her. To trust her.</p>
<p>“The grapevine says that he is in surgery.”</p>
<p>Crowley looks up from his lap. His eyes are red. There is still blood smeared on his temple and forehead, peeking out from behind his tangled hair. “Surgery?” His lip quivers.</p>
<p>“Something about his spleen.” His eyes are brimming again. “Oh, baby, it’s ok. He’ll be ok. You’ll see. It isn’t his time yet.” She takes his hand and squeezes.</p>
<p>Two hours later the stranger, who Crowley has finally discovered is named Tracy, hurries back across the waiting room. She flashes a smile and whispers loudly to him. “He’s out of surgery. He’s doing great. My friend over there said they can sneak you back to see him, but just for a couple minutes.” Crowley stares at her wide eyed. “Go on then!” He looks up and sees a slightly anxious resident hovering near the entrance to the ICU. She hurries him through the swinging doors and leads him to a dimly lit room.</p>
<p>“You have ten minutes until someone will be in to check his vitals. He isn’t fully conscious, so don’t expect a conversation.” She slips out and closes the door behind her. He stands next to the bed. The blood has been washed off of Aziraphale’s hair and face. Part of his head is shaved and a jagged line of staples holds a nasty looking wound closed. He looks otherwise fine. Peaceful even. His face is clean and free of injury. Even his hands and his fingernails look immaculate, barring the IV drip and monitors connected to them. If Crowley were to peel back the sheets and open the hospital gown, he would have been significantly less calm in this situation. He luckily didn’t consider it. He leans down, and kisses Aziraphale on his forehead. Runs his fingertips softly over the corn silk wisps of his hair.</p>
<p>“Aziraphale, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Aziraphale’s head lolls to the side and his eyes flutter open. Crowley rubs his thumb over his cheek. Aziraphale blinks. Smiles softly. Then closes his eyes again and drifts back to sleep.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Over the next week Crowley spends more time at the hospital than he does at home. Any waking moment that he can spend at Aziraphale’s bedside, he does. The first time he is in the room when the nurses pull back his gown to check on his incision and bruising Crowley nearly has a panic attack. The left side of his body is mottled blue and black and purple from his armpit to his hip. A puckered red incision held together with staples runs the length of his torso. As the nurses prod gently at his battered body Aziraphale winces and squeezes his eyes shut and Crowley loses his temper. Shouts at them. Aziraphale apologizes profusely and tries to talk him down.</p>
<p>The next day Crowley buys coffee for the nurses he cursed at and stutters his way through an apology. They squeeze his shoulder and regard him with pity in their eyes and look the other way when he stays longer than he should. He reads to Aziraphale or they watch terrible daytime tv and when no one is around Crowley crawls into the hospital bed alongside him and, more often than not, cries. Aziraphale never does. They fall asleep together on one occasion, hands clasped tightly together and, with some stroke of luck, it is that compassionate resident, Dr. Device, who discovers and gently wakes them, an hour past the close of the visiting window.</p>
<p>None of Aziraphale’s family members visit him in the hospital. It breaks Crowley’s heart, but he is also secretly relieved. Beez visits. They inspect all of Aziraphale’s staples and joke about Frankenstein’s monster and tease him about his partially shaved head but in the hallway just outside his room they hold Crowley tight as they choke back tears together. For Aziraphale and for Crowley and for every other person that has had to endure hatred and violence for being who they are. Tracy visits too. She sneaks in hot homemade soup and it is the first time Crowley sees Aziraphale do more than poke at his food. She reads their tarot cards and winks at Crowley as she pulls the lovers and the star and the ace of cups. As she leaves she makes them promise not to be strangers.</p>
<p>After a week the hospital releases him and Crowley, for the first time in his life, drives slowly and brakes slowly, avoiding as many potholes as possible. He winces as Aziraphale yelps trying to get out of the car and tears up as Aziraphale eases himself onto their lumpy mattress, breathing shallowly and grasping at his broken ribs. With his splenectomy incision he can’t wrap them so the broken edges grate harshly with every breath. Crowley wants to take all the pain and put it inside himself instead. He hates himself for running. He blames himself for all of it. If he had just put on a damn hat when they left that afternoon.</p>
<p>Crowley sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle Aziraphale. “Are you hungry? I can order something.” Aziraphale has eaten very little at the hospital. He looks gaunt.</p>
<p>He shakes his head. “No. No I think. I’d just like to lie down. With you.”</p>
<p>Crowley slips behind him. “Here, just… just lean against me. I’ll ease you down.” At the hospital the bed did this part for them. They were sent home with instructions on how to bathe and how to care for Aziraphale’s wounds, but no one has told them how to manage basic tasks like getting out of a car or laying down. Aziraphale concentrates. Tries desperately not to use any muscles in his abdomen as Crowley slowly eases him toward the mattress. It is much harder than it sounds and he immediately tenses, sending white hot daggers through his body. He shoots a hand out to brace himself, twisting the sheets up in his sweaty fist. This hurts too and he gasps. Which hurts too. He feels dizzy. “Oh god. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Just… try to relax. Breathe with me.” Crowley takes slow audible breaths and Aziraphale nods quickly, tries to match him. He can’t get a deep enough breath. It feels like he is slowly suffocating. But he forces his body to relax. He concentrates on leaning into Crowley. On letting go. On falling back on that unshakeable trust. Eventually he is horizontal and Crowley scoots to the edge of the bed, turning away so that Aziraphale can’t see the shimmer in his eyes.</p>
<p>He doesn’t need to see to know. He reaches out to stroke Crowley’s arm. “Come here. Please. I need you.” Crowley sniffs, wipes at his face, and crawls into bed next to him, snuggles his face against his neck and kisses him there. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p>
<p>Crowley shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Can we talk about it later then? Tomorrow?” Crowley nods and places a hand tenderly on Aziraphale’s hip. He wants so badly to wrap him up and hold him tight and never let go.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Crowley is awakened by a muffled squeak. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. They had arrived home early in the afternoon and now it is dark in their little apartment. He reaches for Aziraphale and panics as he realizes the bed is empty. He flails, sits bolt upright. Aziraphale is kneeling next to the bed. His eyes are closed and his mouth is drawn into a thin straight line. Crowley clambers to the edge of the bed, and slips his legs to dangle at either side of Aziraphale’s body. He cups Aziraphale’s face.   </p>
<p>“What’s wrong? What happened?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale takes a shallow breath. “I needed to pee.”</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you wake me up?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale lets his fingers find Crowley’s legs and grips loosely around his calves. “Crowley… When was the last time you slept? Like really slept?” The bags under his eyes would give mothers of newborn babies a run for their money.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about me. Wake me up next time. I’ll help you. Here, let me help.”</p>
<p>“I can do it on my own.” Aziraphale narrows his eyes at Crowley. He looks like a petulant child.</p>
<p>“Angel. You don’t <em>have </em>to though. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Whatever you need.” He strokes his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. “Anything at all.” They sit in silence, Crowley gently wrapping curls around his fingers. His chin shakes and he has to look away. “I thought I was going to lose you.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale crawls his hands around Crowley’s waist and buries his face against his stomach. “I love you. I love you so much. I’m sorry.” And for the first time, he cries. Ugly, loud, earthshaking sobs that feel like they are tearing his body in two.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Now</em>
</p>
<p>The alarm on Aziraphale’s phone buzzes on the nightstand and he manages to knock it to the ground trying to turn it off. Crowley groans and rolls away, burying his face in his pillow. It is still dark in their bedroom. Aziraphale feels tiny feet pitter patter across his belly and watches as Eve makes tiny circles in the center of Crowley’s back and then lays down in a tight ball.</p>
<p>“Oh my god, you’re still here?” The phone is still buzzing from somewhere on the floor and he fumbles around on hands and knees to find it. He gets dressed in the dark and laces up his running shoes then reaches out and ruffles Crowley’s hair. “Are you coming?” Crowley grumbles into the pillow. Eve purrs and tucks her little face against her paws. “God. How are you two so fucking cute?” More incoherent grumbling. “I’m leaving in ten minutes, with or without you.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale shifts into reverse and has to hit the brakes. Crowley is standing behind the car looking absolutely miserable in a tiny pair of running shorts and one of Aziraphale’s t-shirts. He looks comically out of proportion and Aziraphale laughs as he crawls into the passenger seat.</p>
<p>“What on <em>earth</em> are you wearing?”</p>
<p>“S’dark. I had five minutes. This was all I could find.”</p>
<p>“We do have lights y’know?”</p>
<p>“Shut up and let’s just get this over with.”</p>
<p>Crowley hates running. He really hates running in the summer. He really, <em>really</em> hates running at 5:30 am. The sun is coming up over the lake as their feet pad quietly against the pavement. Even in the early morning the humidity is overwhelming. Crowley sheds his (<em>Aziraphale’s</em>) tee after just half a mile and tucks it into his shorts.</p>
<p>Sweat trickles down his spine and wets his shorts at the waistband. “So he’s already set up the gambling debt.” He pants between words. “Online poker. Beez said it’s impressive really. Thorough work.” He swipes at the sweat on his brow. “History going back a year. Tens of thousands of dollars.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s shirt is soaked through at the armpits and belly and between his shoulders. He doesn’t like the stares he gets when he takes his shirt off, so he leaves it on and sweats. “Did they deposit the money yet?”</p>
<p>“Not yet. It’s what we’re waiting on.”</p>
<p>“How exactly are we… you know. Packaging it?”</p>
<p>“We’ve got all the fake transaction history. Beez has a couple of cryptic conversations recorded. Once we have the deposit, we can link it back to him.”</p>
<p>“After they go to the press first?”</p>
<p>“Exactly. The same day.”</p>
<p>“And we’re sure it is soon?”</p>
<p>“He takes the stand in just over a week. It has to be soon if they want to discredit him. Avoid the testimony.”</p>
<p>They jog another half mile before Aziraphale speaks again. “I’ll need to grab the Solomon file soon then?”</p>
<p>“That is safest. This is the first time we’re directly exposing a cop.”</p>
<p>“A lieutenant at that…”</p>
<p>“They’re going to be on high alert. We’ve gotta get a copy asap.”</p>
<p>They continue on in silence as the sun creeps higher in the sky and sends long bright rays reflecting off the water into their eyes. The heat slowly creeping up and up. Aziraphale’s shirt is soaked through and Crowley has sweat streaming steadily down his chest. They’ve looped and are approaching their starting point again when Crowley flashes Aziraphale a shit eating grin and cuts across the grass toward the shoreline, breaking into a sprint. Aziraphale laughs and chases after him. They hop down the concrete revetments that run along the shoreline and, without stopping, cannonball into the lake. Just like they used to do when they were kids. Even in the middle of summer the water is freezing. Crowley breaks the surface with a gasp and Aziraphale bobs up several seconds later, shaking his head and flinging water in all directions.</p>
<p>Crowley swims forward and wraps his legs around Aziraphale’s waist. His hair hangs in loose waves around his face. Aziraphale runs a hand through his own hair, pushes it back and out of his eyes. The other hand wraps around a thigh and other supports Crowley from below.</p>
<p>Crowley’s arms skim the surface of the water. The lake is calm today. Surface like glass except where their bodies send out ripples. “Be careful. Ok? If you can’t do it this week, we can postpone. We’ll figure it out.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale rolls his eyes but smiles. “I’m always careful. And let me know what kind of interference I can run for the Uriel job. If you need someone to do some nudging. Get the rumor mill going so they move quicker.”</p>
<p>Crowley nods. He glances over his shoulder with a grin. “Race you to the pier? Last one out makes breakfast.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiles. Crowley is faster on solid ground, but Aziraphale is faster in the water. “You’re on.” Crowley shoves off of Aziraphale, propelling himself toward the pier and sending Aziraphale tumbling backward away from it. By the time Aziraphale hauls himself out of the water Crowley is already wringing water out of his t-shirt.</p>
<p>“Filthy cheater.”</p>
<p>Crowley smirks. “I want waffles. And bacon. And coffee from the French press. None of that drip bullshit.”</p>
<p>“Fine. But you’re sucking my dick while I make it.”</p>
<p>“Oh baby, don’t tempt me.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>
  <em>Then</em>
</p>
<p>“Aziraphale. You have to eat <em>something</em>.”</p>
<p>“I told you. The pain meds make me nauseous. And the thought of puking. God…” he shudders. “All that <em>clenching</em>.” His cheeks are hollowed. When he holds him at night Crowley can feel his ribs, although he is careful only to touch the side that is unbroken. It has been two weeks since he found Aziraphale lying in that alley. For the past week they haven’t left their home and Crowley has spent most of his time trying to goad Aziraphale into eating.</p>
<p>“I can call Tracy again.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale shifts uncomfortably where he is propped up against a mountain of pillows. “Tracy has already dropped by about 50 gallons of soup.” It is the only thing that Crowley can get him to eat more than two bites of.</p>
<p>“She can drop off some weed. Settle your stomach. Get your appetite up?”</p>
<p>He glares at Crowley. “We are <em>not</em> asking Tracy for <em>weed</em>.”</p>
<p>Crowley thrusts the bowl toward him. “Will you just eat some rice? For me? <em>Please</em>?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale groans. “Fine. But if I pass out in a pool of my own vomit, it’s on you.”</p>
<p>He shovels a couple of small spoonfuls into his mouth. Speaks before he finishes chewing. “Happy?”</p>
<p>Crowley slumps in his chair. “Getting there.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale pokes at the rice. “I’m going to need to refill my pain meds soon.” Crowley knows he has been spacing them out beyond comfort. Trying to make them last. He also knows he is doing it for him, not for himself.</p>
<p>“I’ll call Tracy.”</p>
<p>“<em>Crowley</em>. Tracy can’t pick up my prescription. And Tracy isn’t our mother. Stop bugging her.”</p>
<p>“Fine. I’ll go then. You should rest anyway.”</p>
<p>“<em>You</em> can’t pick them up either. They aren’t just going to hand over a bottle of oxy to some rando. <em>I</em> have to do it. The pharmacy is only a couple of blocks away.” Crowley chews at his cuticles nervously and Aziraphale swats gently at his hand. “We can go together. I need to get outside anyway. We both do. Plus the doctor said I should start increasing my activity levels.”</p>
<p>“What if… What if he’s out there?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale sets the bowl on the nightstand. “We can’t stay inside forever.”</p>
<p>“If we were married I could pick them up for you, right?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale purses his lips, annoyed. “We can’t <em>get</em> married.”</p>
<p>Crowley perks up. “No… no but we could get a civil union. That would work wouldn’t it?”</p>
<p>He scrunches his face. “Maybe?”</p>
<p>Crowley grins. Drops to a knee beside the bed. “Aziraphale, will you civil union me... er… unionize…? Enter into a civil union with me? Jesus whatever. Wanna get hitched? Legally? But not equally?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughs, winces and grabs his ribs, laughs more. “Fuck you’re going to kill me.”</p>
<p>“Is that a yes?”</p>
<p>Crowley is beaming next to the bed and Aziraphale can’t remember the last time he saw him smile so genuinely. “Yes, it is a fucking yes. Come here.” He drags Crowley up and pulls him in for a kiss. Crowley crawls onto the bed and carefully straddles one of his legs, still kissing him. Gently. Cautiously. Aziraphale pulls him forward and deepens the kiss. Is far less gentle. Nowhere near cautious. That afternoon Aziraphale finds out the hard way that puking isn’t the only bodily function that results in a lot of <em>clenching</em>.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>
  <em>Now</em>
</p>
<p>Aziraphale stares at the screen. Michaels is standing to his left with her hands crossed over her chest. He can see the look on her face out of the corner of his eye. Jaw clenched tight. Face drawn. She slams the remote onto the desk. “Fuck!” Aziraphale startles. Swallows. At eight a.m. the department had released a statement to the press that on the eve of one of the biggest court cases of the decade the key witness had been pulled. The press release said that one Mr. Avery Johnson, single father and sole eye witness to the execution style murder of a woman with the unlucky circumstance of being engaged to a man that owed money to the “Reaper,” had accepted a bribe in the amount of $75,000 to testify against him. The press release outlined his history of online gambling and several failed stints in rehab. The rehab part was true, mostly. The rest was utter fabrication.</p>
<p>Without the Mr. Johnson’s testimony, the case was built on circumstantial evidence. No doubt that the Reaper would walk. The department was already running damage control for the major fuck up when every local station cut to a new <em>Breaking News!</em> broadcast. Chicago’s beloved vigilante had distributed their own press release. The fraudulent gambling profile. The last minute deposit into his bank account. And the icing on the cake, audio that allegedly fingered Lieutenant Uriel as the perpetrator behind the set up. A last minute phone call between the Reaper and Uriel. Uriel demanding more money to fix the mess. The Lieutenant had somehow gotten it in his head that they were pushing up the testimony several days. (<em>Aziraphale couldn’t possibly know where that rumor had started.</em>) He figured a rush job deserved a little bonus. The press release also included some relatively complicated financial records that, if one were to dig deep enough, and someone certainly would, would link the Reaper and Uriel going back several years. And those links just happened to coincide with shoddy lab results, missing evidence, and blocked warrants that helped the Reaper squeak out of conviction after conviction.</p>
<p>Now the department was on double damage control. Scrambling to keep the press at bay and working on their own investigation into Uriel. The DA was furious and the Superintendent was on his way to ram his dick up the collective department’s ass. Aziraphale doesn’t give a fuck about any of this. He is staring at the little flourish that Crowley has included. The press release is signed with a tiny serpent wearing a bycocket. He clenches and unclenches his fists at his side. The media is happy to focus on the little green hat, an obvious ode to the Robin Hood moniker. The only thing that connects this case back to the vigilante that had previously only moved money from the wealthy to the needy in one way or another. Aziraphale, though, can only see the snake. That little coiled serpent. The press doesn’t call him the snake. That bit of information has never made it to print. That only happens here. Only cops call him the snake. He already hears the whispers. That the snake is a cop. That this is an inside job. Crowley may have just fucked them. Aziraphale is furious.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Aziraphale gets home late. Way late. He left the station four hours after he was scheduled to clock out and even so, he is completely wired by the time he walks through his door. Absolutely brimming with energy. He slams the door behind him and his bag onto the kitchen counter nearly as hard. Crowley bounces into the kitchen, clearly pleased with himself. His face falls when he sees the glare Aziraphale is shooting at him in the reflection of the kitchen window.</p>
<p>He cringes, teeth bared, “Rough day?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale whirls around, speaks through clenched teeth. “A snake, Anthony? A fucking <em>snake</em>?!”</p>
<p>Crowley sputters, eyes darting. “I needed to link it back to the other jobs…”</p>
<p>“The public doesn’t know you as the snake! The media doesn’t know you as the fucking <em>snake</em>!”</p>
<p>“But…” he frowns. “I put a little Robin Hood hat on him…”</p>
<p>“They’re already talking. They already think it is a cop. It’s all over the precinct.”</p>
<p>“Zira, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Aziraphale is rubbing his hands through his hair. Fingering at the scar hidden there. Crowley knows his ticks. Knows when he needs to calm him. Aziraphale has a tendency to bottle everything up and let it all come rushing out at once. He is a slowly burning fuse. Crowley talks softly, soothingly. Crosses the kitchen slowly toward him. “Angel…Even if they suspect it is a cop, they have no way to know it is us. Everything happened while you were there. On the clock. They couldn’t possibly suspect you.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale grabs a beer from the fridge and opens it against the countertop. He chugs the entire bottle and throws the empty into the sink where it clatters noisily. Crowley flinches. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”</p>
<p>“You knew. You just didn’t <em>think</em>.”</p>
<p>Crowley crosses the kitchen and wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s waist. “I’m sorry. I fucked up. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale leans back against the counter, hands braced behind him, jaw clenched. Crowley leans his forehead against his chest. The seconds tick by and turn into minutes. Crowley can hear nothing but Aziraphale’s heart thumping steadily against his ribs. It isn’t racing, and Crowley takes that as a positive sign.</p>
<p>He exhales noisily. “I got the Solomon file.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s head snaps up, “What?”</p>
<p>“There was so much commotion at the precinct. I took the opportunity. Snatched it.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s lips tilt up. “You magnificent fucking bastard.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s shoulders release a smidge. Drop an inch. A fraction of the tension burning away. “We can scan everything tonight and I’ll sneak it back in tomorrow somehow.”</p>
<p>“I love you. I fucking love you.” Crowley smashes their mouths together. Aziraphale resists for a moment. Pretends he doesn’t want this. That this isn’t always where all that pent up energy was going to be funneled. But it doesn’t take long before his hands find Crowley’s hips and yank them forward against him.</p>
<p>He presses Crowley back and back and back until he hits the countertop opposite with a grunt. Crowley gets his hands planted next to his hips and clambers upward, trying to get a seat on the countertop. Aziraphale grabs him by the waistband and yanks him forward off the counter, knocking a gasp out of him. His face is clouded with confusion as he pulls his mouth away.</p>
<p>Aziraphale glowers. “Absolutely not.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s forehead scrunches. Aziraphale, still gripping him by the waistband drags him away from the counter and toward the living room, spinning him around and pulling him tight against his body so he is walking him backward. He kisses him hard then pulls back to growl against his mouth.</p>
<p>“I have been at work for <em>fourteen</em> hours. The chief <em>and</em> the superintendent are breathing down my neck. And I <em>still</em> got that goddamned file for you.” Crowley stares, wide eyed.  “Now you are going to take me to bed. To the <em>soft</em>, <em>comfortable</em> bed. <em>Not</em> the kitchen counter. And you are going to fuck me like I deserve to be fucked.”</p>
<p>Crowley whimpers. His feet get tangled and he stumbles where he is trying to keep pace walking backward between Aziraphale’s legs. Aziraphale holds him tight around the waist and doesn't stop moving toward their bedroom.</p>
<p>“Fuck pillow princess. I am a fucking pillow <em>queen</em> tonight, got it?”</p>
<p>Crowley groans and nods.</p>
<p>“And I'm still fucking mad at you.” He can feel Crowley's erection poking him in the groin already.</p>
<p>“God, why is this so hot?” He tilts his face to kiss Aziraphale just in time to get dumped unceremoniously onto the bed. He stares up at Aziraphale, incredulous, as he strips his shirt off and Crowley scrambles up to reach for his belt. Aziraphale twists a handful of Crowley's hair around his fist and squeezes, drawing a little yelp of pleasure from him.</p>
<p>“And when I'm finished, if you ask nicely, I'll think about letting you come too.”</p>
<p>Crowley yanks down his zipper and pushes Aziraphale’s jeans to the floor, followed by his boxers. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Aziraphale’s face. “Seriously, this is really working for me.”</p>
<p>His hands slip around Aziraphale’s back and gently pull him forward until his knees hit the edge of the bed. Crowley kisses the apex of his scar just under the tip of his sternum, then trails his mouth down, scattering soft kisses across his belly. A hand drops to Aziraphale’s thigh and tugs him forward. “C’mere.”</p>
<p>Crowley scoots back and draws Aziraphale onto the bed between his knees, one hand still on the back of his thigh and the other reaching up to hold the back of his neck to bring their mouths together again.</p>
<p>Aziraphale lets Crowley pull him down onto the bed and gives no resistance as he flips them over so Aziraphale is beneath him. He just sucks in a deep breath and closes his eyes and lets Crowley spoil him.</p>
<p>And spoil him he does. He presses Aziraphale’s hands above his head and wraps his fingers around the edge of the mattress then explores Aziraphale with his mouth. Kissing knuckles and forearms and temples. His mouth and jaw and neck and the sensitive spot just below his armpit where he pauses to breathe him in and nip gently. Aziraphale groans and writhes and pants under him as he works his way slowly down his body. Over his collar bones and sensitive nipples and back to that long lean scar down his middle.</p>
<p>Wherever his mouth touches, his fingers follow, stroking and rubbing and pinching and tickling. Aziraphale is nearly shaking apart by the time Crowley reaches that trail of hair that runs between his belly button and pubic mound. He sucks at the juncture of his thigh and pelvis and slips his hands around to grasp at his sumptuous behind. Aziraphale’s hips buck up off the mattress, his fingers leaving their stronghold on the edge of mattress for the first time to twist back up in Crowley’s hair.</p>
<p>Crowley leans into his hands but continues downward until he can take Aziraphale’s hard prick between his lips and swirl his tongue over the leaking head. “Fffuck, AJ…” Aziraphale’s head shifts side to side as he gets wrapped up in the sensation of Crowley’s hot mouth. Crowley hollows his cheeks and presses down around Aziraphale’s cock until he sputters and chokes. He pulls back, coughing, and wipes drool from his face with his forearm before diving back down and doing it again. Aziraphale’s heels dig into the mattress and his knees frame Crowley’s shoulders.</p>
<p>He bobs over Aziraphale for several minutes before crawling to the head of the bed to dig in the nightstand for a bottle of lube. When he finds it he shoves it toward Aziraphale, who laughs and gestures at himself. “Queen, remember? I want you to do it.” He smirks. “I want to watch you do it.” He swirls a finger in the air in a ‘turn around’ motion.</p>
<p>Crowley gapes.  “Fuck. You’re insufferable and <em>so</em> fucking hot. <em>God</em> <em>almighty</em>.” He undresses himself quickly, turns to face the end of the bed and supports himself on hands and knees. Aziraphale strokes his thigh as Crowley coats his fingers in the slippery lube and snakes a shaky hand behind himself. They groan in unison as Crowley sinks a finger inside himself and Aziraphale reaches up to grasp at him. His fingers dig into Crowley’s pale flesh and spread him wide while he tugs lazily at his own cock.</p>
<p>Aziraphale stares, transfixed as Crowley works himself open. As he adds a second finger Aziraphale reaches out to play with his velvet soft balls, and Crowley’s whole body tenses at the touch. His fingers trail up and rub at the place Crowley squeezes around his own fingers making him shudder. He can’t resist and adds a thick finger alongside the two Crowley already has inside himself. He smiles as he watches his toes curl up against the messy sheets. Crowley rocks back against his hand several times before he withdraws his hand slowly and turns back around, hurrying to straddle Aziraphale’s hips. He strokes Aziraphale and coats him in lube then lines himself up.</p>
<p>He sinks down slowly and Aziraphale returns his hands to the mattress above his head with a low guttering moan. Crowley’s teeth sink into his lip as he bottoms out. He pauses. Adjusts. Takes a deep breath. Aziraphale’s head rolls to the side and he shifts his hips.</p>
<p>His voice is low. "Move"</p>
<p>Crowley lifts up and drops an inch back down. He leans forward and digs his fingers into Aziraphale’s chest.</p>
<p>Aziraphale rolls his hips under him. "I said <em>move</em>."</p>
<p>"Ffuck. What the fuck..." He lifts. Drops. Lifts. Sets into a rhythm.</p>
<p>"More." Crowley moves faster, grinding down against him with every bounce. He focuses on Aziraphale’s pleasure, squeezing around him and tilting his hips the way he knows Aziraphale likes. "Just like that. Don't stop."  Aziraphale’s breathing turns heavy. He reaches out, needs to get his hands on Crowley. He grabs his thighs, drags him down harder. Crowley pounds a fist on Aziraphale’s chest, slows, and hurries to grip himself hard around the base of his cock. "Fuck! Fuck. Sorry."</p>
<p>Aziraphale moans. Whines. "Don’t fucking stop."</p>
<p>Crowley chokes out a groan. Squeezes himself tight and rocks his hips again. "Zira... You're so... God you're fucking sexy like this. I... I don't know if I…"</p>
<p>Aziraphale gets a hold on his hips and bucks up into him, making Crowley cry out.</p>
<p>"Please... Please baby." Crowley is trembling. He huffs out a breathy laugh. "I'm asking nicely."</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiles as his hips snap up.  "Yeah. Yeah, come for me. I want to feel it."</p>
<p>Crowley breathes a sigh of relief then pumps his fist roughly until he is crying out again and covering Aziraphale in hot stripes. He falters as he comes, but keeps bouncing and grinding on Aziraphale until he feels him pulse deep inside of him.</p>
<p>Crowley folds over and kisses Aziraphale, messy and breathless and searing. Aziraphale strokes his hands over his back, let's himself be kissed. Crowley slumps to the side and flops onto his back, taut stomach still rising and falling rapidly. "Next time..." He turns his head to look at Aziraphale, "don't say yes."</p>
<p>Aziraphale peeks at him out of the corner of his eye. "What?"</p>
<p>"I want you to make me beg next time. Like really beg."</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughs "Jesus Christ, is there a kink you <em>don't</em> have?"</p>
<p>Crowley smirks. "Variety is the spice of life."</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Crowley walks quietly through the apartment still completely naked. He snatches Aziraphale’s satchel off the kitchen counter where it had been discarded earlier in the night and then dips into the fridge and snags two cold beers. He hears a muffled meow from the balcony and lets Eve in before swaying back toward the bedroom. “I know you’ve already eaten. Not getting any more tonight.” Eve runs ahead of him and by the time he walks through the bedroom door she is already pacing back and forth across Aziraphale’s pillow. Aziraphale himself is too tired to pretend to care. All of that pent up nervous energy had completely dissipated. He was exhausted. Still a little irritated. But mostly worried. Worried about Crowley. About Gabriel. About getting caught. About the prospect of getting tossed into prison, or worse, and never being able to hold the man he loves again.</p>
<p>Aziraphale eyes his bag in Crowley’s hand. He knows he is dying to get at that file. To start planning. To follow up leads. “Can we not? Not tonight. I just want to go to sleep.”</p>
<p>Crowley sips at his beer, sets the other on the nightstand next to Aziraphale. “Go to sleep. It’s ok.”</p>
<p>“Crowley…”</p>
<p>“I just want to take a look. Ten minutes. Promise.” He unzips the satchel.</p>
<p>“I know you. It is <em>never</em> just ten minutes. You will be up all night.”</p>
<p>“Ten minutes.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale rolls onto his side, curls in on himself. “I want… I want you to hold me. Please?”</p>
<p>Crowley sighs and takes another swig of his beer but is already setting the satchel down and tucking in next to Aziraphale. He sets his beer next to the other on the nightstand and wraps his arms around his husband. “Better?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale nods. He knows that as soon as he falls asleep Crowley will be up and out of bed spreading documents out on the living room floor. He laces their fingers together and tucks their hands up under his cheek. Wraps his ankle under Crowley’s. Anything he can do to try to keep him there longer. To hold him in place so that maybe he’ll drift off to sleep too. He feels Crowley kiss the back of his head softly. He fights to stay awake. To sit in this moment. To outlast Crowley. But his eyelids flutter and his thoughts drift. He dreams of a little snake in a Robin Hood hat drowning in a slowly growing pool of blood. He dreams of Gabriel’s angry face. At some point Crowley slips away and disappears into the darkened living room.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Three minutes. In three minutes he can be in and out. He glances at the clock. Shift change in sixteen minutes. That will be the best time. Lots of movement. No one has a bead on anybody. Over his shoulder he can hear the angry ranting of the superintendent. He slammed through the door twenty minutes ago like a hurricane and hadn't let up on Michaels since. Aziraphale was actually starting to feel bad for her. He hazards a peek around his monitor toward her office. Even under the assault of one of the most powerful men in the city she doesn't flinch. Her posture is relaxed. She leans casually against her desk with her arms crossed dismissively over her chest, chin tilted up to look down her nose at him. The only thing giving her away is that fat bulging vein in her forehead and the occasional clench of her jaw.</p>
<p>Aziraphale feels terrible for hoping that her reaming will continue for another twenty minutes so he can sneak down to records and slip out the Solomon file. He and Crowley used to pocket candies and trinkets and, later, beer and whiskey from the corner store every other week when they were kids. He'd even seen Crowley spirit away a six pack of toilet paper and a gallon of milk one time when they were especially cash strapped. He can do this. No problem. His fingers tap against his thigh as he watches the minutes tick away. Officers throughout the bullpen are starting to gather their things. A few officers on overnight are beginning to file in, coffee in hand and faces set in permanent scowls.</p>
<p>Three minutes before the shift change Aziraphale takes one last scan of the room. Half the officers in the bullpen have their heads dipped low, trying to avoid anyone that might ask them to stick around for overtime .The superintendent and Captain Michaels are still in her office. He is gesturing angrily and she is still the picture of zen. Aziraphale grabs the stack of files off his desk and walks briskly across the open office space. He's found that if he walks like he is going somewhere, like he has an important task to attend to, that people tend to avoid interrupting him for idle chitchat. He opts for the stairs instead of the elevator, slips quickly down to the lower level where records and evidence are located.</p>
<p>Mrs. Dowling is perched at her desk behind a thick plexiglass window. In the room behind her, in a cabinet somewhere, sits the Solomon file. Aziraphale has only glimpsed the contents. He knows it is far sparser than it should be. That it has been pilfered by dirty cops looking to change the narrative. To cover up what they've done. If he gets caught today, in this moment, everyone will assume he is doing the same. Covering for something. Or someone. Lumped in with all the other crooked schemers. He takes a deep calming breath, crosses his fingers that the commotion of the day will give him some leeway.</p>
<p>Mrs. Dowling looks up from her crossword puzzle with a kind smile. “Officer Fell, dear, it's been a couple days. What’s brought you down to the depths?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale slides a small paper plate through the slot in the window. “Someone brought cake this morning.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Dowling clasps her hands together. “Oh, you always think of me, don’t you?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale flashes her his signature grin, “How could I not, Mrs. Dowling, with a smile like that?”</p>
<p>She rolls her eyes but still smiles. He’s been building this rapport for months. Bringing small gifts. Stopping to chat and flirt whenever he passes. He is fairly certain she is aware what team he plays for, but she appreciates the attention either way. “Ok, ok. Why are you actually down here?”</p>
<p>He holds up his stack of files. “I grabbed this whole stack on Tuesday, went through the whole to-do, and I’m missing the <em>one</em> file that I actually need. It was on the list when I signed in the other day, I just forgot to grab it.” She raises a brow at him. “I was hoping, maybe, that you’d be willing to let me sneak back real quick and snag it.” He leans in and lowers his voice. “Off the record that is. Michaels is really riding me. I’d hate to give her another reason to tear me a new one. Especially after everything going down today.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Dowling frowns and nods sympathetically. “Ok. But only this once, you hear me? In and out fast as you can. I’m not getting wrapped up in the whole mess either.”</p>
<p>He sags and exhales exaggeratedly. “Mrs. Dowling, you are a saint. An absolute life saver.” She buzzes the door for him. “Thank you. I owe you.”</p>
<p>She shouts after him, “I’ll remember that!”</p>
<p>He slips in through the secured door and with one last glance over his shoulder he beelines for the filing cabinet he has been eyeing every time he has been in the room for the past six months. He knows exactly where the file is. He could retrieve it blindfolded. He just hasn’t worked up the courage to do it until now. As he yanks the drawer open he can hear Mrs. Dowling talking loudly to someone outside. <em>Shit shit shit</em>. He snatches the file out quickly and jams it into the middle of his stack, closes the drawer and turns quickly to a different cabinet. He has contingencies. Exit strategies. Crowley was right. They have backup after backup. The file on the top of the stack belongs in the cabinet just to the right of the cabinet that contained the Solomon file. As he opens the drawer he hears someone clear their throat behind him.</p>
<p>This was always a possibility. He has practiced, even. He acts like he is pulling the file from the adjacent cabinet and setting it on the top of his stack. With a steady breath he turns around, trying desperately for casual. His heart nearly stops. “Captain Michaels!” His voice is certainly an octave too high and he is sure his face looks anything but casual. He can already feel sweat beginning to prickle under his armpits. His pulse is quickening. He tries to remember the calming affirmations Crowley made him practice. All those little tricks to fool your body into thinking it doesn’t need to panic. Crowley had even dragged him out onto a 30<sup>th</sup> floor balcony in the loop and made him practice until he could control his heart rate. He hadn’t conquered his fear of heights, but for five minutes he managed to convince Crowley that he had, which was exactly what Crowley was asking him to do.</p>
<p>“Officer Fell.” She eyes his stack of files. “Hard at work I see.” Aziraphale glances down at his hands and as discreetly as possible, tucks the half inch of the Solomon file that is protruding back inside the stack. “I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” Aziraphale gives her his full attention but doesn’t speak. At least this is not unusual. Aziraphale almost always allows Michaels to lead the conversation. He speaks when he is asked a question and otherwise defers to silence. He likes to pretend this is an intentionally feminist act. That he is actively trying to avoid interrupting and speaking over her. That he is showing her the respect that her position deserves when so many other men do not. But in all honesty it is because she terrifies him and he has a tendency to embarrass himself in front of her.</p>
<p>“I’ve recognized how much time you’ve been putting in lately. And your dedication to the vigilante case.” This is… not where Aziraphale had anticipated that this conversation would be going. Especially not today. And not after that verbal fucking she just got from the commissioner.</p>
<p>He stands up a bit straighter, brow furrowed. “Sir?”</p>
<p>“Look. I know you’re still pretty green. How long have you been on the force?”</p>
<p>“Just shy of three years, sir.”</p>
<p>“I just wanted you to know that everyone gets chewed out from time to time. I certainly just did and I’ve been in the game a lot longer than you. I don’t think anyone really becomes a cop until they have to take the walk of shame back to their desk like you did a couple weeks ago. We all fuck up. What matters is what happens after. And you’ve really stepped up. So I just wanted to say that I recognize it.”</p>
<p>“Th… thank you?” Aziraphale isn’t used to praise from anyone other than Crowley. Isn’t sure exactly what reaction he should have. Oddly, the only thing he can think of in the moment is his parents. Had they ever told him they recognized his hard work? Had they ever told him they were proud? He can’t think of a single instance. What would they think of him now? Michaels has started talking again and he flinches at himself a little as he tries to catch up. <em>Fuck. There I go again. Trying to embarrass myself.  </em></p>
<p>“… and I know that you’ve already heard the rumors. Everyone is pretty sure the snake has some kind of inside connection in the precinct. I think I agree. It would explain a lot. How he’s managed to slip by our patrols and evade being traced. I mean, that little snake in his latest stunt? He’s toying with us. He wants us to know how smart he is. That he thinks he has protection.” Aziraphale must make a face. Concern? Fear? He isn’t sure, but Michael’s catches it. “Oh don’t worry. He’ll fuck up eventually. They always do. Especially once they get cocky. It’s only a matter of time.”</p>
<p>“Right…”</p>
<p>“Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it. There’s a meeting in twenty minutes regarding today’s whole cluster fuck, so I expect to see you there.”</p>
<p>He nods. “Of course. I’ll see you in twenty.” He hurries past her and out the door before she can say anything else. <em>Fuck fuck fuck fuck.</em> He prays that she doesn’t check out the form with Mrs. Dowling. That she doesn’t realize he wasn’t supposed to be here. That bubbling anger he has been feeling toward Crowley is back at the forefront of his mind. But now it is also laced thickly with fear. They can’t get caught now. They <em>can’t</em>.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Michaels watches Aziraphale hustle back to the entrance and slip quietly out of the door, then turns back to the task at hand. She needs to pull everything she’s got that might link back to Uriel and the Reaper if there is any hope of fixing this mess. Something catches her eye and she pauses. There is a photo on the ground just where Aziraphale was standing a moment ago. She eyes it then glances back at the door. She stoops and picks it up. It is a grainy black and white photo, like it was printed from a still image of a shitty security camera feed. There is a man looking back over his shoulder, an object tucked under one arm. She recognizes the man in the photo. They used to work together on the south side at least a decade ago. She flips the photo and handwritten on the back is simply <em>the archangel.</em></p>
<p>She grabs her phone out of her back pocket and dials. The other end picks up in two rings. “Gabriel O’Connor. This is Michaels. It’s been a while...”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>At five o’clock the next morning, Aziraphale’s alarm goes off. He turns it off without opening his eyes and rolls over to throw an arm over Crowley. To pull him close and apologize for being angry. To explain that he was just scared. <em>Is</em> just scared. But that he trusts him. Always. The bed is empty. Of course it is. “Ten minutes my ass…” He slips on a pair of boxers and stumbles into the living room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The dim glow of the city and the first hints of twilight illuminate their living room. Crowley is curled up on the couch, Eve tucked up behind his bent knees. The coffee table has been dragged up next to the balcony doors and the contents of the file have been spread out into tidy organized stacks across their living room floor. There are post it notes labelling each stack. Crowley’s laptop is perched on the arm of the couch along with a small notebook.</p>
<p>When Eve sees Aziraphale she stands and stretches then walks over Crowley’s sleeping body and up onto the couch to greet him. He gives her a couple of long strokes from her head to the tip of her tail. “Did you keep an eye on him for me last night? Maybe bite him a couple of times?” She purrs and hops down off the back of the couch directly onto Crowley’s ribs. He stirs and grumbles at the cat. Aziraphale smiles. “Good kitty.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s eyes flicker for a moment before snapping open. He tilts his head to look up at Aziraphale and groans. “Fuck. What time is it?”</p>
<p>“Five.”</p>
<p>Crowley pushes himself up to a seat and runs a hand through his hair. “Running today? Give me five minutes.”</p>
<p>“AJ, you promised.”</p>
<p>He sighs and heaves himself to his feet. “I know. I know, I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“You <em>have</em> to take a step back from time to time. Sometimes it feels like we haven’t stopped to breathe in the last four years.” Crowley takes a step forward and rests his forehead against Aziraphale’s shoulder, arms hanging loosely at his sides. “And even if <em>you</em> don’t need a break, <em>I </em>do. I’m living and breathing this every day. <em>Every</em> day.”</p>
<p>“I know…”</p>
<p>“Do you think I <em>like</em> being a cop? That I enjoy thinking about him every day? The PD isn’t that big. He could walk into the station any time. Or I might have to walk into his.”</p>
<p>Crowley wraps his arms loosely around Aziraphale’s waist. “He wouldn’t do anything. Not in front of everyone.”</p>
<p>“That’s not the <em>point</em>, Crowley. I’m telling you that I’m exhausted.”</p>
<p>He pulls Aziraphale closer and even though Aziraphale doesn’t want to, he melts into him. “Let’s take the weekend then. You’re off for three days after today. Beez can handle the set up for the next job. We’ll take the Supra up to the dells. Really let her loose on the back roads. I promise, really, really promise, no work. We won’t even talk about it.” He dips his head to look into Aziraphale’s downcast eyes. “What do you say? I can keep spoiling you.” He grins, waggles his eyebrows. “We can get handsy in one of those stupid duck boats.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale tries not to smile. Fails miserably. “Fine. But not the dells. Let’s just rent a house on the lake somewhere up north. I don’t want to be surrounded by tourists.”</p>
<p>Crowley bounces a little. “Deal.”</p>
<p>“Now get dressed. We’re going for a run.” Crowley groans and flops back down onto the couch.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Crowley collapses onto a deck chair and stares out at the water. They had gotten up early to beat traffic and driven several hours along the lakeshore to a quaint little air bnb tucked away in between stands of birch. The nearest neighbors are at least a quarter mile down the road. They had stopped in the nearest little slowly crumbling Midwest town and picked up wine and cheese and three different kinds of stone fruit. Ice cream sandwiches and spaghetti and a handful of vegetables and thick salmon filets. A crusty baguette and salted butter and peppery radishes and so many other things they’ll never be able to finish. Then they’d gotten lost and stumbled onto a little farm stand and bought even more. Fat little strawberries and a bunch of fresh basil and a handful of juicy plums and heavy heirloom tomatoes and local honey and farm fresh eggs.</p>
<p>The first thing they’d done when they walked through the door was fill the fridge and search through all the cabinets for a corkscrew and a couple of wine glasses. Then they slipped off their shoes and headed outside to check out the view. There is a rocky little beach a short walk from the house and a handful of seagulls hop around picking between the stones. The lake laps slowly against the shore under a cloudless sky.</p>
<p>“It really looks like the ocean, doesn’t it?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale looks up from where he leans against the deck railing. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”</p>
<p>Crowley frowns. “Me neither. But I mean… in pictures.”</p>
<p>“I’ll take you one day. When this is all over. We’ll go see everything. Do everything. Oysters in Rome and crepes in Paris and Shakespeare in London. Wherever you want to go.”</p>
<p>Crowley grins up at him. “I’d be happy as a clam right here. As long as I was with you.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale rolls his eyes playfully. “Sap.” Crowley reaches up and tugs Aziraphale’s wrist until he sits in the Adirondack chair with him, then pulls him back until he is pressed flush against him. Aziraphale scoots down so he can rest his head against Crowley’s chest and sips his wine.</p>
<p>Crowley wraps an arm around him. “What do you want to do first? Listing said there is a kayak under the deck. Lake is calm enough. We could swim too. Oh, and I packed Star Realms. I can kick your ass at that all afternoon if you want.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughs. The sun is already high in the sky but there is a cool breeze blowing in off the lake that takes a bit of the edge off of the heat. “Food. I definitely want food first.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes! You can’t day drink for the weekend without a full belly. You stay here. Enjoy the view. I’ll throw together something for lunch. Brunch? Ah damn, we should have bought stuff for mimosas!” Crowley continues to chatter as he scoots out from behind Aziraphale and disappears into the sunny little lake house. Aziraphale leans back and closes his eyes. Lets the sun warm his skin. Breathes in the smell of the water.</p>
<p>Twenty minutes later Crowley emerges with a blanket and a picnic basket in one arm and his wine glass, recently filled beyond polite levels, in the other hand. “Check it!” He holds the basket aloft with a grin, “You are getting so wooed this weekend. Wooed off your <em>ass</em>.” He nods toward the beach. “Let’s eat down there.” Aziraphale reaches for the blanket and Crowley turns, swinging it out of his reach and spilling wine over the rim of his glass in the process. “Ah ah. I said I’d spoil you and I mean it. Your job this weekend is to look pretty.” He gestures toward the stairs and Aziraphale only tries to reach for the blanket one more time before he leads the way.</p>
<p>They spend the rest of the morning spread out on their blanket eating those strawberries and cheese and baguette with butter and radishes and flaky salt. Aziraphale tosses juicy blueberries into Crowley’s mouth and they let the seagulls scoop up the ones that he misses. They down a bottle of wine in record time and Crowley jogs back up to the house for a second. When they’ve had too much sun, cheeks and knees and forearms turning pink, they retreat back into the house. Crowley refuses to let Aziraphale help carry the blanket this time too.</p>
<p>They put on music and Crowley spins Aziraphale around the room giggling and drunk. They try to play Star Realms but get distracted and end up in bed instead. They spend a long long time just kissing each other in the warm sunshine that streams in through the window. For what feels like the first time in years Aziraphale isn’t thinking about Gabriel. Or the deal that he and Crowley made with each other almost a decade ago.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>
  <em>Then</em>
</p>
<p>The afternoon of the day that Crowley proposed, Aziraphale found himself in even more dire need of his dwindling pain meds than usual. He had been so overjoyed to see Crowley smile, <em>really</em> smile, that he had most certainly overexerted himself. To Crowley’s benefit, he had tried desperately to take things slow. He had planned to politely decline anything beyond a gentle make out session. Aziraphale, though, was stubborn. It hadn’t taken long before he had dragged Crowley up onto his lap and gotten his deft fingers underneath him. Before Crowley knew it he was sinking down around him, pleasure splitting his body in two and his fingers nearly doing the same to the headboard. Even then he had rocked gently, afraid to let his hands wander from their iron grip on either side of Aziraphale’s head. Terrified he would hurt him. Aziraphale on the other hand was having none of it. He dug his fingers into Crowley’s hips so hard he left pinpricks of blood in crescent shapes and, even though it wasn’t comfortable, he thrusted his hips up into Crowley, lifting with his legs more so than his abs. Crowley didn’t want to like it, but the heart wants what the heart wants. All he could focus on were those ten points of contact where Aziraphale’s fingernails were digging into his skin. He wanted more of that. The same sensation but amplified by ten. He whined at the thought, rocked that much faster, Aziraphale’s prick rubbing over and over against his prostate until he could no longer hold back.</p>
<p>Just before Crowley orgasmed he realized with horror that he couldn’t come all over Aziraphale’s splenectomy incision and just managed to clasp his palm over his cock as Aziraphale tugged him roughly to completion. Aziraphale came at nearly the same time, the sensations of Crowley’s orgasm sending him over the edge. It was a confusing combination of pleasure and pain as his abs tried to clench and his body tried to curl. He moaned then yelped then groaned then laughed then yelped again all in rapid succession, leaving Crowley confused and panicking on top of him. The sight of Crowley, hand and cock still dripping with semen, flushed and tousled and still trembling gently from his orgasm, with his brows creeping up toward his hairline and face plastered with worry sent Aziraphale into a fit of (painful) giggles that only managed to worry Crowley even more.</p>
<p>Crowley was talking to Aziraphale from the bathroom where he was cleaning himself up. “That was such a bad idea. Terrible. You aren’t supposed to be doing things that make you breathe heavy. You over exerted yourself. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Why are you sorry?”</p>
<p>“I shouldn’t have given in to temptation.” He hears Aziraphale snort from the other room.</p>
<p>“It was a great idea. Natural endorphins. I feel great.” This is mostly a lie. His ribs ache like anything and it feels a little like someone has reached into his guts and squeezed. Emotionally, though, it is the truth. As much as Crowley wants to protect him from pain, Aziraphale wants to give Crowley joy. To show him the light in their world. To prove that it didn’t get snuffed out in that alley.</p>
<p>Crowley emerges, still naked, from the bathroom with a damp towel and takes the very few steps between the door and the bed. Aziraphale can’t help but smile fondly as Crowley cleans him up gently. “This is very lovely, but how would you feel about helping me out in the shower?”</p>
<p>Crowley looks at him suspiciously. “I don’t know that I trust you right now.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale snorts again. “There is this thing called a refractory period, you know?”</p>
<p>“I’m pretty sure you don’t actually have one.”</p>
<p>“Please, you’re one to talk.” Crowley smiles and keeps wiping at him with towel. “We can either do it now, and I’ll be good, or we can do it when we get back from the pharmacy. And I make no promises if we do that.” Crowley frowns. His hand stills. Aziraphale can see the gears turning. “Crowley I <em>have</em> to go. I can’t be held responsible for my actions if I don’t get a refill on my pain meds.” Crowley takes a deep breath and nods. “It will take ten minutes. It will be fine. I promise.”</p>
<p>Crowley helps Aziraphale get dressed and they trudge out into the neighborhood. The weather has improved over the past two weeks. It isn’t exactly warm, but after a winter in the city, it sure seems that way. Even so, Aziraphale pulls a beanie on over his head to cover the place where his scalp split against the side of that building. The place where Crowley held him together, unsure what exactly he was holding in. He doesn’t realize until they are out the door that it is the same beanie he tugged down over Crowley’s pink ears two weeks before. Crowley won’t look at it. He keeps his head down and walks briskly. Aziraphale reaches out and grabs his hand to slow him down and Crowley quickly pulls away, looking frantically around them, eyes wide. His eyes meet Aziraphale’s for a split second and he can see the pain and the panic in them. His breathing is ramping up. His eyes dart around their surroundings and Aziraphale is certain he can see tears brimming in them.</p>
<p>Aziraphale speaks softly but firmly. “AJ. Look at me.” Crowley runs a hand through his hair and stares at the ground. “<em>Look</em> at me.” His eyes flick back to Aziraphale. “We can do this. Together. We can do anything together. It’s ok.” Crowley takes a deep breath and nods and Aziraphale takes a step closer. He takes Crowley’s hand again and Crowley startles at the touch, looks away again. “And no one, fucking <em>no one,</em> is going to keep me from loving my fiancé.” Crowley glances up at the word fiancé and for the first time since they stepped through their door into the fresh air his body relaxes just the tiniest bit. The ghost of a smile touches his features. “<em>No one</em> is going to scare me away from… from holding your hand or kissing you or whatever I want to do… wherever the <em>fuck</em> I want to do it. Not anymore. Never, ever, <em>ever</em>, again. I will <em>not</em> let him win.”</p>
<p>A tear spills over Crowley’s lashes and runs down his cheek. “But what if…”</p>
<p>Aziraphale cuts him off by grabbing both sides of his face and kissing him, there, in the middle of the sidewalk. Cars and bikes and pedestrians and joggers pass by and not a single person even looks twice. Crowley’s heart is hammering in his chest but when Aziraphale pulls away it is like the elephant sitting on his chest has stood up. He is still broken, still has a way to go before his heart can recover from the pressure. But he can breathe. “There is no what if. Just us. All that matters. You and me.”</p>
<p>Crowley sniffs. “Ok. Ok I trust you. No what ifs.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale chews at the inside of his cheek for a moment. Looks up at the sky and then back at Crowley. “I know about the gun.”</p>
<p>Crowley stutters, mouth flapping open and shut.</p>
<p>“I’m not mad, but there is no way in hell I’m letting you use it.”</p>
<p>“Angel I…”</p>
<p>“No <em>fucking</em> way.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t…”</p>
<p>“Don’t lie to me. I know exactly why you have it. I’m not stupid. Where did you even get the money for a gun?”</p>
<p>“I… I owe a guy a job.” He looks down at his feet. “I’m driving for him in a couple weeks.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale sighs and runs a hand over his face. “You better drive clean. Because if you end up in jail I’ll fucking kill you.”</p>
<p>“It isn’t like that…”</p>
<p>“Get away or transport?”</p>
<p>Crowley cringes. “Transport.”</p>
<p>“Goods or personnel?”</p>
<p>“Goods…”</p>
<p>“Promise me you’ll be careful. And that you’ll get rid of the gun.”</p>
<p>“Aziraphale, he can’t just walk. If I hadn’t found you, you could have died. Your spleen was <em>ruptured</em>, Angel. Ruptured. He can’t just get away with what he did.”</p>
<p>“I know. He won’t. I have an idea.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>How about a little break from the feels for pure filth?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Now</em>
</p>
<p>In the evening they build a bonfire on the beach and make s’mores and drink beer, because that feels more appropriate given the context than wine. Being away from the city lights means that they can see the stars and they spend a long time on their backs gazing up at them. One day, a few years down the line, Crowley will gaze up at the night sky in the middle of the desert and see the dense arm of the Milky Way and be blown away by how little they actually saw on this night. But for tonight, as they lie on their backs, drunk on wine and beer and sex and a moment in time where they can forget about it all, they are captivated. And it is a memory he will treasure forever. Much more so than that lonely night in the desert.</p>
<p>In the morning Crowley makes Aziraphale breakfast in bed. Farm fresh eggs sunnyside up, a juicy, perfectly ripe tomato sliced thick and sprinkled with flaky sea salt and cracked pepper, some of that crusty baguette toasted up and slathered in salty butter. He kisses him on the forehead and sets the tray on Aziraphale’s lap. “Dessert is in the oven. I’m making that New York Times plum tart that all the bloggers won’t shut up about.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale takes a bite of his egg, creamy yolk spilling across his plate. “I didn’t know you kept up with the food blog world.”</p>
<p>Crowley snags a bite of his toast. “Lots of down time when you’re running surveillance.”</p>
<p>“I want to come with you next time. Your next stake out. I want to see some of the locations. See if I notice anything that you might not recognize.”</p>
<p>“Ah, ah, ah. No shop talk, remember?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale puts his hands up. “Ok, ok. You’re right.” He takes a bite of the tomato and his eyes roll up. “Oh my god this is so fucking good.”</p>
<p>“Right?! What bullshit tomatoes are the peddling at Whole Foods? Garbage. Absolute garbage. One of these days we’ll have a proper garden and I’ll grow tomatoes like these.” Aziraphale smiles. Crowley keeps a tidy little herb garden on their balcony in the summer but they don’t have much space for vegetables. He’s coaxed some beautiful little strawberries into bloom here or there. A couple of containers of hot peppers. Some cherry tomatoes, even. But never any big funny shaped things like these. <em>Six months</em> he tells himself. <em>Six months</em>.</p>
<p>“So what are we doing after breakfast?”</p>
<p>“Kayaking! I want to spy on the neighbors. I bet they’re loaded. Did you see that house we passed on the way in?” Aziraphale laughs around a mouthful of egg. The oven timer goes off and Crowley jumps up and sways out the door to check on his plum tart, which ends up being worth all the hype. So much so that Aziraphale has a slice at lunch and dinner too and makes Crowley promise to find that farm stand again on their way back into the city so they can stock up on plums and then fill their freezer with tarts.</p>
<p>They spend the day kayaking and swimming then lounging on the deck reading and drinking. Crowley tries to goad Aziraphale into sex on the deck, but Aziraphale maintains that it isn’t nearly public enough to be exciting and therefore not worth the heat or the potential splinters. Crowley gives in with little fight and drags Aziraphale inside instead. Kisses him in the kitchen. “Will you do that… that thing? That I like.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughs, “You’re going to have to be more specific. I’m pretty sure there are like… thirty ‘things’ that you like.”</p>
<p>Crowley blushes, actually <em>blushes</em>, a little. One side of Aziraphale’s lip quirks up. They are so far beyond blushing he worries for a minute he is going to ask for something really out there. Something even Aziraphale might hesitate to do. And that list is really quite short. “You know. That thing where you boss me around… then make me beg.” He hesitates for a second. “Don’t let me come without permission.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiles and pulls Crowley closer. “Oh, I think I can do that.” He kisses Crowley again. “And what would you like me to do if you don’t listen? If you misbehave or if you come before I say you can?”</p>
<p>Crowley’s lip twitches up into a grin. This is familiar territory. “Punish me.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Specifically?”</p>
<p>Crowley glances down and toys with Aziraphale’s leather belt. “Oh… I’m sure you’ll think of something.”</p>
<p>“Traffic light system?”</p>
<p>Crowley shrugs. “Works for me.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale stares at his face for a minute. “Wait. Are you going to be a brat just to get the belt? Because we can always just start out with it if you want. It’s no fun if you just top from the bottom.”</p>
<p>He scrunches his face. “Hmm… yeah. You’re right. I would just be thinking about it the whole time. Belt later.” He purses his lips and thinks about it. “What if I just promise to behave?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale considers it for a minute then smirks. “Why don’t we treat you like the good little pet that you are?” Crowley perks up a little, interested in where this is going. A little tingle in his groin already from the diminutive. “A treat when you’re good and time out if you misbehave.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I think I like that idea.” He kisses Aziraphale once on the throat. “I promise to be good, though.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale tilts his chin up, rakes his gaze over Crowley’s face. “I want you to go into the bedroom and get undressed.” Crowley bites his lip and nods. “I’m going to take a shower. You’ll wait while I do. I want you to be hard when I come in. <em>Leaking</em>.” Crowley’s pupils visibly dilate and he glances down at his crotch. <em>Check and check</em>. “I packed a toy in my bag. A little surprise. I want you to find it and I want you to insert it while I shower.” He taps the phone in his pocket with a smirk. “I’ll turn it on when I’m ready.” Crowley groans a little and chews at his lip. Aziraphale gives him one last grin before turning around and walking slowly toward the bathroom.</p>
<p>As soon as the door shuts Crowley is on the move, tugging his shirt off over his head as he hurries to the bedroom. He drops to his knees in front of Aziraphale’s bag and searches through three different pockets before his hand finds the familiar shape. It is a simple little plug. Tapered shape and flared base. Maybe a little bigger than their usual. What they have at home doesn’t come with an app though. Another tingle surges through him. He tosses the plug onto the bed and quickly undresses the rest of the way. The lube is still sitting on the nightstand from the day before and he wastes no time applying it to the toy and laying back on the bed to start working it in. He takes his time. Teases himself as he listens to the muffled sound of the shower. Wonders if Aziraphale is touching himself. He moans as he finally inserts the plug fully and continues to stroke himself lazily.</p>
<p>He pushes himself up onto the pillows a little, tries for a sexy sprawl. He is good at sprawling. Sprawls more than he sits, if he’s being honest. He throws his arm above his head onto the pillows and tilts his head back to expose his throat. Hikes a leg up to the side. After a minute he scrunches his face, reconsiders. He flips onto his stomach, spreads his thighs and arches his back a little so Aziraphale can see the plug tucked between his cheeks when he walks in. He crosses his hands under his chin and smiles to himself. Another minute later and he frowns and flips over again. Should he stand? Kneel? He scoots to end of the bed and sits (gently) on the edge to scope out the room. As he is evaluating all of the potentially sexy positions he can put himself in and weighing the pros and cons of each, that simple little plug surges to life deep inside him. He yelps and presses up off the bed, supporting himself on his palms and toes.</p>
<p>He is used to the frenetic buzz of a vibrator, but this one <em>rumbles</em> and the sensation is phenomenal. His head tilts toward his chest as he slowly lowers himself back down to the bed, pressing the toy deeper under his own body weight. He slowly circles his hips. “Oh <em>Jesus</em>…” The rumble intensifies for a few seconds then cuts out abruptly and his body slumps. He realizes he is panting already and it wasn’t even tucked up against his prostate properly. “Fuck <em>me</em>.”</p>
<p>“That’s the plan.” Crowley jumps a little. He was so distracted he hadn’t hear the shower turn off or Aziraphale padding across the house. He has a towel wrapped around his waist but Crowley can see that it is tented in the front. He smiles a little. So Aziraphale <em>was</em> touching himself in the shower. He reaches out and grabs at the towel and Aziraphale shifts his hips away. “Ah ah, Did I say you could touch me yet?” Crowley watches wide eyed as Aziraphale discards his towel on his own and kneels between his knees then sets his phone on the bed next to his hip. On the screen is a little dial surrounding a power icon. Below that is a history log. Apparently Aziraphale had only turned the plug up to 3 out of 10. He swallows and grips the edge of the bed as Aziraphale hovers his index finger over the power icon. He grins up at Crowley and taps the button, turning it back on at level 3.</p>
<p>The plug rumbles away and Crowley tries to discreetly tilt his hips so that it isn’t pressed so tightly against him. So it isn’t brushing against his prostate. Two warm palms spread his thighs apart and he realizes that he’s closed his eyes. Behind his lids Aziraphale watches the plug send little ripples over Crowley’s skin. He trails his eyes up and gazes at his face curiously. Watches all of the little twitches and quirks. His eyes drift down again to watch Crowley’s fingers tangle up in the sheets. Further still to see his toes curl for a second before pressing down and lifting his heels off the ground, calves flexing. Aziraphale drags his finger around the little dial and it clicks up one setting, forcing a high pitched little moan out of Crowley.</p>
<p>He strokes Crowley’s flexed calves and fingers at the sensitive spot behind his knees. “Does that feel good?” Crowley squeezes his eyes tighter and nods, mouth hanging open in a loose “o.” Aziraphale stands up and runs his hand through Crowley’s hair. It reaches almost to his shoulders in soft waves. Aziraphale loves it like this. He knows that is the only reason that Crowley hasn’t chopped it all off. That and because he likes the grip that Aziraphale can get when it is this length. He twists a handful around his fist and pulls Crowley’s head back slowly. “I want you to look at me.” Two amber eyes slowly flutter open and stare up at Aziraphale. “I’m going to fuck your mouth now. And you are going to touch yourself while I do.” Crowley whimpers and Aziraphale smiles down at him. He knows this isn’t exactly what Crowley had in mind. That Crowley wanted to do the spoiling. But he can tell how much he is enjoying himself regardless.</p>
<p>Crowley releases his grip on the edge of the mattress and brings a hand to his cock, collecting the bead of precome at the tip to begin stroking himself gently. Aziraphale guides himself into Crowley’s waiting mouth with a groan and begins slowly thrusting in and out, not pressing too deep yet. He knows Crowley well. Knows that what he wants is to be taken roughly. To choke. Aziraphale isn’t sure he can handle it all without coming. So for now, he holds back. Thrusts slowly. Pushing just a little deeper each time, but not yet into his throat. Crowley’s eyes flutter closed and Aziraphale tightens his grip in his hair and pulls back until he is almost slipping out of Crowley’s mouth. Crowley’s eyes snap back open and he leans forward, chasing after him. “I said I want you to look at me.” Crowley attempts to nod and Aziraphale presses back in. Crowley hollows his cheeks and works his tongue around the sensitive head of Aziraphale’s prick. He keeps his eyes trained on Aziraphale’s face.</p>
<p>“That’s good, just like that.” He slips in a little deeper until he is hitting the back of Crowley’s throat. There are a couple of thin streams of saliva slipping out of Crowley’s mouth and running down his chin onto his throat. “I think you can handle a little more, no?” He leans to the side and clicks the little dial up another setting and Crowley’s mouth vibrates around his cock and he groans in pleasure. His body starts to tremble and his hand stops pumping around himself as Aziraphale thrusts deeper, slipping just past the point where Crowley’s throat offers up resistance.</p>
<p>His cheeks and throat are pink and he is whimpering quietly, huffing out short bursts of air onto Aziraphale’s belly. Aziraphale’s legs tremble too. “God you’re gorgeous like this. You’re loving this aren’t you?” He finally presses deep enough that Crowley struggles to maintain his composure. He pulls out all the way and Crowley’s head falls forward as he coughs, saliva streaming down his chin. When he looks up again he is grinning sleepily. “Of course you are. Dirty boy like you. Getting off on choking on my cock.” He looks down at Crowley’s hand, wrapped loosely around his leaking prick. “I don’t think I told you to stop.” Crowley lifts his hand to his chin and gathers up the spit that has collected there then returns to his slow steady strokes. “That’s better.” Aziraphale drops to his knees again and grabs Crowley by the hips to yank him forward until he tilts backward and has to support himself with his other hand. Aziraphale spreads his knees wide so he can see the flared base of the plug where it rests against his body. He reaches over and clicks the plug up another setting and Crowley folds forward, chest heaving. “Mmm, you know, I think this is a little too easy for you when you get to control the pressure.” He runs his hand up the inside of Crowley’s thigh and presses two fingers against the base, tilting it up so it nudges against Crowley’s prostate.</p>
<p>Crowley’s entire body jumps and he stills his hand again. “Oh <em>fuck</em> Angel. I… I can’t…”</p>
<p>Aziraphale clicks his tongue at him. “You can. And you will.” He wraps his hand around Crowley’s and pumps him slowly. He presses and releases the plug, fucking Crowley shallowly with it and Crowley’s entire body trembles in response. His mouth flaps open and closed like he wants to say something and Aziraphale smirks up at him from between his legs. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”</p>
<p>Crowley struggles to maintain eye contact. “P.. Pl….” It isn’t often that Aziraphale manages to reduce him to consonants, but the sight is enough he almost has trouble finding his own words.</p>
<p>“You’re going to have to do better than that.”</p>
<p>Crowley lets out a long low growl. “P-Please. <em>Please</em>, please.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale looks directly into his eyes and speaks firmly. “No.”</p>
<p>“Oh ffff…” Crowley sucks in a deep breath through his nose and fights against Aziraphale’s hand where it is wrapped around his own and squeezes tightly around himself. He manages to keep his eyes open but Aziraphale can tell he is staring into the empty house behind him and not at his face. Aziraphale takes mercy and turns the toy down a couple of notches. Crowley is mumbling under his breath, repeating the same thing over and over rapidly. “Green, starter. Blue, battery. White, ignition.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale sits back on his heels and laughs. “Are you hotwiring a car?”</p>
<p>Crowley takes another deep breath through his nose. Clenches his jaw. “Shut up.”</p>
<p>“You know that doesn’t really work anymore, right?”</p>
<p>Crowley stares down at him wide eyed. “Oh my god shut up! Of course I know. Do you think I tried to hotwire that beemer a couple weeks ago? Do you know how many cars I’ve stolen in my life? Fuck!”</p>
<p>Aziraphale continues to laugh at him. “Better now?”</p>
<p>Crowley tries not to smile. “Yes.” He laughs a little at last. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale stands up and gestures to Crowley. “Up then.” Crowley stares at him for a second. “<em>Now</em>. Hands on the bed.”</p>
<p>Crowley stands awkwardly, the movement shifting the still rumbling toy around inside him. He faces the bed and leans over to put his hands on the mattress, glad to be able to close his eyes when he wants to. His cock hangs heavy between his legs. The plug finally stills inside him and Crowley’s entire body relaxes. Until Aziraphale grabs it and yanks it out unceremoniously. “Fuck!” He yelps, then laughs. “Warn me next time!”</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughs behind him. The sound trails around the bed and Crowley watches as he walks to the nightstand and grabs the lube. He squeezes some into his hand and begins to coat himself as he returns to his position behind Crowley. He rubs the tip over Crowley’s hole and murmurs at him. “Relax for me.” His fingers find Crowley’s flank and stroke him lightly. He presses in slowly at first, swollen leaking head popping past the ring of muscle, before sliding in the rest of the way with ease.</p>
<p>Crowley pushes back against him and Aziraphale runs his hand over the small of his back. “Keep going. You do the work. Fuck yourself on me.” Crowley rocks on and off of him, picking up his pace quickly, one hand returning to his own cock. “That’s good. You’re so good.” He stares down at the place where he disappears into Crowley’s body. They’ve been doing this since they were sixteen years old and it will never ever get old. He’s never not completely turned on by Crowley. Absolutely ruined. He wants him just as badly today as he did as a horny teenager. “God I fucking love you.”</p>
<p>Crowley shudders as he slams back onto Aziraphale’s cock, the skin of Aziraphale’s thighs slapping against him. He pumps his fist slowly. “Please, Angel, <em>please</em>.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale doesn’t even want to, but he knows what Crowley really wants him to say. “No. Not yet.”</p>
<p>Crowley whines under him and Aziraphale gets a hand under his knee and pushes it up onto the mattress. Crowley topples forward onto his chest and lets Aziraphale tuck his other leg up onto the bed as well. His voice shakes. “Aziraphale…”</p>
<p>“I want to hear you beg.” He doesn’t, not really. He doesn’t <em>not</em> want to hear him beg, but it isn’t what he’s getting off on. “Tell me how bad you need it.”</p>
<p>“Fuck, <em>fuck</em>, Angel, please. Please I need it so bad. Please.” Aziraphale’s hips falter. His fingers dig into Crowley’s hips. Crowley’s voice is half muffled by the mattress. “<em>God</em>. Pleeeease. I’m so… I’m gonna. <em>Fuck. I’m begging</em>.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale didn’t <em>think</em> he really was getting off on the begging but either way it sends him over the edge. That unbridled desire and pleasure and need in Crowley’s voice. Aziraphale comes hard, waves wracking his body until his knees nearly buckle, but he manages to find his voice. “Come for me. Now. Come…” Crowley cries out and finally lets go, spilling all over the sheets and his own fist. Aziraphale keeps thrusting into him, riding out his orgasm for another few seconds before Crowley slumps all the way forward and Aziraphale follows, landing across his back.</p>
<p>“Fuck. Oh fuck, Aziraphale. Holy shit.” Aziraphale laughs and rolls off Crowley onto his back. “Have you tried that fucking thing?” He points toward the plug lying near the head of the bed.</p>
<p>“Haven't gotten a chance.”</p>
<p>“Where the fuck did you pick that up? Give me... Give me half an hour. Let me drink a beer. And then that,” he jabs at the toy, "is going in there.” He points at Aziraphale’s lower body.</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughs again. “That good?”</p>
<p>Crowley rolls onto his back “That fucking good. Jesus Christ. You have no idea how much math I had to do to keep from coming. I think I rebuilt the Supra twice over. Actually… I think I might know what that clicking noise is now…”</p>
<p>Aziraphale is still laughing as he reaches out and runs a hand through Crowley’s sweaty hair. “That was... Really fucking hot, by the way. I didn't know I'd be ah, so into that.”</p>
<p>Crowley snorts out a laugh. “No? You didn't think you would be into control? Into making me your play thing? Having everything your way?” Aziraphale scrunches his brow, shoots him a look of incredulity. “Oh come on! That is totally your thing.”</p>
<p>“Is not!”</p>
<p>“Is too!”</p>
<p>Aziraphale Huffs. “Whatever. All I'm saying is I had a good time.”</p>
<p>Crowley closes his eyes and stretches his legs out. “Baby, you can do that to me any day of the week.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Then</em>
</p>
<p>Crowley slumps against the door of the bathroom stall, panting. “Fuck. Oh fuck, Aziraphale. Holy shit.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiles up from his place between Crowley's feet and wipes at his chin then stands up and kisses him. Crowley shimmies a little and tucks himself back into his jeans, zipping them quickly and turning to peek out the crack between the door and wall.</p>
<p>It has been six months since Crowley had found Aziraphale in that alley. Six long months. It had taken nearly two for Aziraphale to feel back to normal, physically. Neither of them would ever feel particularly normal emotionally. But they had found a new normal. And they were slowly adjusting to it. Learning how to cope and to live without fear in a world that so often warranted it. Aziraphale was adjusting faster than Crowley. At least on the outside. Crowley wore his heart on his sleeve. Aziraphale kept his locked away and had only given the key to Crowley.</p>
<p>Since that first public kiss outside their crummy little apartment Aziraphale had taken his promise to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to the extreme. This was his way to tackle fear. It was also his way to show Crowley that he had done nothing wrong by tugging him down that alley on that day. That now Aziraphale would do the tugging until Crowley could forgive himself. It started simple. With a lingering kiss on their front stoop just a few days later. It was timid and tender and soft and somehow still completely ruined Crowley. He'd (<em>Gently. So gently</em>.) backed Aziraphale back into their apartment and lowered him onto the mattress as if he were an undiscovered Monet and demonstrated the very definition of making love.</p>
<p>Two weeks after that they'd trekked to the courthouse and gotten that civil union, Beez and Tracy in tow. It wasn’t a ceremony. Just a legal transaction, really. But they’d put on their nicest, cleanest clothes and combed their hair and Aziraphale had fretted about the state of his partially shaved head and still puckered scar all morning before Crowley dug out an old newsboy cap and carefully situated it on his head. After a quiet celebration at Tracy's house with a little too much champagne, Aziraphale had gotten those clever fingers on Crowley's fly and given him a hand job in the front seat of his car on a not quite unbusy street.</p>
<p>After that it became a bit of a thing. Aziraphale took every opportunity to pull Crowley into a hug or a kiss or to hold his hand and occasionally taking things a bit further. Some of that invincibility of youth returning in spite of everything. It made Crowley nervous, to put it lightly. But also terribly excited. He found that he wasn't necessarily into the public aspect so much as the service aspect. He got off on getting Aziraphale off and it was clear that Aziraphale had discovered something about himself since that first public kiss. And every time that they touched in front of God and everybody a little bit of his own fear fell away.</p>
<p>After the hand job in the car things had escalated quickly to blowjobs in public bathrooms, despite Crowley’s complaints that Aziraphale needed to take it easy. Let himself heal. Aziraphale didn't pay him much mind. He dropped to his knees with gusto and ignored the ache in his ribs. Every other week he would escalate. He had even tried, one hot summer night, to drag Crowley down an alley for something more, but Crowley had had a panic attack. Aziraphale was patient. More so than normal. He gave Crowley space. Rubbed his back as they sat on the curb. Circle after circle after circle against those tense muscles until Crowley could catch his breath. Then they walked home together and Aziraphale wrapped him up in his arms and told him in a million and one ways that he loved him and promised to protect him and keep them safe. That he wouldn’t push. That they could stop. That it was ok. And Crowley knew more than anything in the world that it was true. And so he spent the next month taking on his fear. First just gazing at it. The same alley where it had happened. For three days that is as far as he could go. Too afraid to move forward. Until he wasn’t. He took one step inside. The two. Then three. By the end of the month he had taken Aziraphale's hand in a death grip and walked with him from one end to the other, shaking and sweating the entire way. When they emerged on the other side they sat on the curb and cried together. For so many reasons. Not all of them bad. But not all of them good, either.</p>
<p>Another month later Aziraphale would hold him close in that alley and kiss him deeply. Standing in the spot he had stared down at a slowly pooling crimson puddle. The spot where Crowley had felt his world turn upside down. By now they had a plan in place. A long game. They had more learning to do first. More growth. They would need a lot of patience and even more strength. But eventually, slowly but surely, they would get their revenge. Although back then they didn't realize they'd take down half of Chicago PD in the process.</p>
<p>Tonight though, they were celebrating. Just the two of them. One last drink in a dingy bar on the south side.</p>
<p>“Angel, we're going to get caught one of these days.” He slides the lock and slips out of the stall, dragging a giggling Aziraphale behind him. “Zira...” He glances down at Aziraphale’s crotch and Aziraphale follows his gaze to the conspicuous bulge in the front of his olive green chinos. He tucks himself up into his waistband with a grin. Crowley glances around the bathroom and gestures at Aziraphale. “Did you want me to…”</p>
<p>“Nah, let's go have another drink.”</p>
<p>Crowley glances at his watch. “We shouldn't stay out late. Big day tomorrow.”</p>
<p> “Crowley, we can fit all of our possessions into that beater of yours. I think we'll be ok.”</p>
<p>“She isn't a beater. Just needs a little work. And we are going to go to IKEA too. No fucking way am I doing that hungover.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughs. “Come on, how bad could it be?”</p>
<p>Tomorrow, finally, on Aziraphale's 20th birthday, they were moving out of Beverly. Moving on to a new phase of their lives. Away from the constant reminders of the hand they had each been dealt and how they had been hurt. They had been trying to leave for months. Upward mobility was difficult, though. They were stuck in a lease. They had already been barely scraping by each month and now they had tens of thousands of dollars in hospital bills to pay off. Aziraphale had lost his job and had only recently found new work stocking shelves at the local big box store. It had taken Crowley some time to get back out there as well. They had no credit. No savings. It was impossible to save up for a deposit and most places cheap enough for their budget also required first and last month’s rent up front.</p>
<p>Things had felt impossible. Hopeless. Until Beez had offered to let them rent a spare room in their sparkling new West loop loft. No deposit required. Utilities included. When Crowley had hung up the phone with them he had scooped Aziraphale up and spun him around their shitty little efficiency and knocked over a lamp in the process. That they would have to replace during that IKEA trip.</p>
<p>Aziraphale watches Crowley in the mirror as he washes his hands. “How did Beez luck into that place anyway?”</p>
<p>“What, you don't know?”</p>
<p>“Know what?”</p>
<p>“Really? Beez is loaded now.”</p>
<p>“What? No way. Since when?”</p>
<p>“Um... Yeah? Got that sweet government gig in cyber security a few months back. Getting paid to hack into secure systems, identify weak spots, that kind of thing. Salary. Benefits. Whole nine yards.”</p>
<p>“Why the fuck am I always the one buying the weed then?”</p>
<p>Crowley shrugs as he peeks out the bathroom door then slips out quickly into the dimly lit bar.</p>
<p>Aziraphale hangs back a couple of minutes then follows to find him at a high top next to the open front of the bar overlooking the street. The city is busy. Everyone is out enjoying the final throes of summer. Those last few balmy nights before winter tramples right over fall and sets in.</p>
<p>Aziraphale tenses. A handsome older man is leaning against the table smiling at Crowley. This isn't terribly new. Crowley gets attention all the time. Aziraphale isn't sure if Crowley is actually ignorant of the temptation that rolls off him in waves. Of the way people are instinctively drawn to him. He always seems oblivious to the flirtation and subtle propositions. Aziraphale wonders sometimes if maybe he's just too kind to dismiss people. Crowley would never admit it, but deep down he has a heart of gold.</p>
<p>He should be used to it by now, really. But Aziraphale is and always will be the jealous type. Even though he knows Crowley would never stray. He trusts him unconditionally. He has a much harder time trusting other people, though.</p>
<p>As he approaches the table Crowley looks to him with a smile. “Zira, there you are, this is...Rich? Right?” The man nods, still smiling broadly at Crowley. “He was just telling me that this place used to be a speakeasy.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale scowls slightly and drapes a protective arm across the back of Crowley's chair. The man doesn't budge. He hardly gives Aziraphale a second glance. Aziraphale knows he is overprotective. Or maybe overbearing. But it doesn’t make a difference. His blood boils at the man’s audacity. So he does what his body tells him to do. He tilts Crowley’s face up to his, fingers under his chin, and kisses him. Claims him. Tenderly, but deep enough to put on a bit of a show. Doing this, in public, still makes Aziraphale’s pulse skyrocket. Crowley’s too, although in a different way than it does to Aziraphale. But he doesn't pull away. Instead he reaches out with his fingers and puts them on Aziraphale's hip and tugs him just an inch closer. It is a small gesture, but it sends a thrill through him.</p>
<p>A moment later, when Aziraphale breaks the kiss Crowley keeps his hand there and turns back to the stranger with a small shy grin. “Rich, this is my husband, Aziraphale.” Those few simple words knock the breath out of Aziraphale. This is the first time he's introduced him as such to anyone. They continue to look into each other’s faces as the stranger makes an excuse and toddles away back toward the bar. Crowley tugs him down for another kiss, and it is the first time that he has initiated physical contact in public. Aziraphale is shaking as Crowley pulls back. “Wanna get out of here?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale nods. “Please.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>They show up to their new home late the following afternoon. They had gotten a late start. What with Aziraphale having shown his appreciation to Crowley and Crowley having shown Aziraphale that he never needed to worry about strangers in dimly lit bars. When they finally stumbled out of their lumpy creaking bed for the last time they packed up their small tower of boxes and drove to IKEA, which turned out to be a very big deal.</p>
<p>Crowley preferred a more modern look while Aziraphale was set on something more traditional. And Crowley wanted everything in neutral colors, which Aziraphale didn't hate, but definitely didn't love. And by the time they unloaded their big blue bags at the checkout they had to cross their fingers that Aziraphale's card wasn't declined. It wasn't, but it was when they tried to fill their tank up to make it back into the city. They managed to limp in on fumes but they weren't sure how they were going to eat until one of them managed to bring in their next paycheck. Crowley was already on the phone with a guy about a job as he parallel parked and although Aziraphale was grumpy about the whole situation he couldn't help but be impressed with how easily he tucked that little Toyota Supra into the spot while he hardly even paid attention to what he was doing. There was a reason he had a small but fiercely loyal group of petty criminals and street racers that turned to him when they needed a driver or a hand in the garage. Aziraphale preferred that he stick to the latter, but he couldn’t deny that Crowley was fantastic at the former.</p>
<p>They trudge up the two flights to their new flat, balancing bags and boxes and Beez meets them at the door, signature scowl firmly in place. Before they have even set their burdens down Beez is laying out ground rules.</p>
<p>“No shoes in the house. Don't eat my food. No pets. And no fucking outside of your bedroom or bathroom.” At this last point they look Aziraphale square in the eye.</p>
<p>He ignores them. “We have our own bathroom?!” He proceeds to tromp into said bathroom, shoes still strapped tight to his feet.</p>
<p>Beez looks at Crowley who just shrugs and chases after him. He has also failed to kick off his shoes. “I hate you guys! Regretting this already!”</p>
<p>Crowley shouts over his shoulder, “Love you too, Beez!”</p>
<p>Beez can hear their muffled voices from the other room. “Holy shit I think our room is bigger than our entire apartment was!”</p>
<p>It is only a handful more trips to the car before they have fully unloaded. The room comes furnished, so it takes no time at all to snap on new sheets, unload a couple of towels and their toothbrushes and unpack their meager wardrobes. The bulk of their boxes are the books that Aziraphale couldn’t bear to part with and the slowly growing number of houseplants that Crowley has rescued from alleys and acquaintances or grown from starts scooped off the floor of the local garden store and lovingly raised from tiny pups to monsters that overflow their simple terra cotta pots. The only real furniture they bought at Ikea is a flat packed Billy bookcase. It says something about their relationship that they assemble it quickly without a single word and then fill it with books using an organizational system that makes perfect sense to them, but would confound any other living soul. They tuck plants and knick knacks and a framed photo from their civil union in among the books. Their little life, simultaneously simple and so complicated, on one bookshelf. Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and rests his head on his shoulder as they take it in.</p>
<p>Beez doesn't offer to help with the moving in or the unpacking, but they do order Greek food and crack open a couple beers for them, ushering them out onto the balcony. They down their first beers quickly while discussing the finer points of Ikea shopping strategy and Beez gives Crowley a twenty to go grab another six pack to share. When he is out the door Aziraphale gets quiet. Picks at the label on his empty beer bottle. Beez is happy to sit in silence, staring out at the city as the sun starts to set and the lights in the high rises begin to flick on one by one.</p>
<p>Aziraphale watches a plane come in low over the city. “Beez, I... I just want to say thank you.”</p>
<p>Beez shifts uncomfortably. “What for?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale gestures vaguely. “For this. I don't know if we would have ever gotten out without your help.” He glances back in through the balcony doors at the exposed brick and beams and the open kitchen with marble countertops. “And I know you are under charging us for rent.”</p>
<p>“I don't know what you're talking about. I just got a good deal. I know a guy.” They set their empty bottle on the ground next to their foot and crack open a second.</p>
<p>“Uh huh. Right.”</p>
<p>They sit quietly for a while before Beez speaks. “I want in.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale looks up from his beer. “Huh?”</p>
<p>“I want in. Whatever it is you have planned. I'll help. I want to help.”</p>
<p>“What do you know about that?”</p>
<p>“Well, when Crowley gave back the gun…”</p>
<p>At last Aziraphale turns to face Beez, eyebrows climbing up his forehead. “What?!”</p>
<p>Beez shrugs. “He gave it back. Said you had an idea.”</p>
<p>“You got him the gun?!”</p>
<p>“Of course I did.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale struggles for words for a minute. “Why would you..?”</p>
<p>Beez still doesn’t look at Aziraphale. “Zira, when I got to the hospital he was still covered in your blood. I had to throw those clothes away. You don't know what it was like those first few hours. I’ve never seen him like that. He didn't know how bad your injuries were. All he could talk about was how it felt to hold your head together. He didn’t know why you had had surgery or why they wouldn’t let him see you. Why Anathema had to sneak him in. We were in the waiting room and he asked for it. That day.” Beez scrunches their face and turns further away. “We didn't know if you were going to make it.”</p>
<p>“So you were going to let him <em>murder</em> someone? Jesus Christ!”</p>
<p>For the second time that day Beez turns and looks him straight in the eye. “After what he did to you? <em>Absolutely</em>. And I was going to help him get rid of the body too. Because that is what you do for someone you love.” Aziraphale isn't sure if they’re talking about him or Crowley or both of them. Either way it knocks all of the wind right out him. For those counting, that is now the second time in less than twenty four hours.</p>
<p>His heart aches. When he speaks again it is quiet. “I don't want to get you involved. No one else needs to get hurt. Because of me.”</p>
<p>“You won't be able to do it without someone that knows tech. It’s 2011. Everything is digital now.”</p>
<p>“He’s old school. Trust me.”</p>
<p>“You don't know that. Not anymore. Just because he's y...”</p>
<p>“I said no.”</p>
<p>“He's just the tip of the iceberg you know. You'll see that eventually. I'll be waiting.”</p>
<p>The silence settles back in between them. Aziraphale furrows his brow and looks back at Beez. “Anathema?”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>“You said <em>Anathema</em> had to sneak him back in…”</p>
<p>Crowley busts back through the door ranting about cyclists and drops another six pack on the little table between Beez and Aziraphale. He leans down and kisses them both on the forehead, earning him a groan and a smile, before collapsing into the third chair. Aziraphale grins. Beez has bought three chairs for the balcony. Not two or four like most people. Three. They pretend to be distant, but little gestures like that give them away.</p>
<p>That night as they settle into their new bed (which is so suspiciously plush that Aziraphale is beginning to suspect it did not come with the apartment, but was in fact selected meticulously by Beez) Aziraphale turns to Crowley and reaches out to hold his hand.</p>
<p>“You told me that you owed a guy a job for that gun.”</p>
<p>Crowley looks confused. “I did.”</p>
<p>“Beez said they got it for you.”</p>
<p>Crowley sighs and rolls onto his back. “Fucking Beez. They never can keep their mouth shut, can they?”</p>
<p>“Well? Why did you lie to me?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t <em>lie</em> to you. Beez was the middle man. I still had to pay. Still had to do the job even when I gave the gun back.”</p>
<p>“You told Beez?”</p>
<p>“Not specifics. Just… that we were going to take care of it. That it would be more satisfying to watch him rot in prison surrounded by the people that he put there.”</p>
<p>“Beez wants in now.”</p>
<p>“Jesus, Zira, I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“I think maybe we should take the help.”</p>
<p>Crowley snaps his head back toward Aziraphale. “Really?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Now</em>
</p>
<p>A quiet whimper pulls Aziraphale out of his sleep. On Sunday they had spent a lazy morning at their air bnb before heading back into the city. The rest of the week had gone by largely uneventfully. Things had quieted down at the precinct, although there was talk of a new task force being developed to take on the snake. Aziraphale was angling to make sure he ended up on it, which required an uncomfortable amount of rubbing elbows with a handful of officers he detested. Michaels hadn’t said much to him since bumping into him down in records and he was keeping his fingers crossed that meant she hadn’t checked the sign-in log that he had failed to use that day. He still popped down with treats and conversation for Mrs. Dowling every few days. No need to burn that bridge.</p>
<p>Aziraphale rolls over to find Crowley clenching and unclenching the sheets between his fingers. He can hear him grinding his teeth together. In the months following the incident this had been terrifyingly frequent. Crowley had had nightmares almost every night, meaning neither one of them slept well. By the time they had moved in with Beez the nightmares had dropped to a weekly occurrence. Over the years they had become less and less common, but in recent months, as their plan had finally begun to peak, they had started back up. Aziraphale runs his hand down his forearm and holds his hand, shushing him gently. Sometimes, when they are lucky, the dreams pass and in the morning Crowley is none the wiser. Tonight, though, Crowley’s breathing is only ramping up and up. His chin trembles and he whimpers again.</p>
<p>Aziraphale props himself up on an elbow and reaches out to stroke his cheek. “Shh, it’s ok. Everything is ok. I’m right here. Baby wake up. It’s ok.”</p>
<p>Crowley gasps loudly and his eyes snap open. His arms flail as he struggles to sit up. His eyes dart around the room and Aziraphale hurries to sit up and pull him close. “It’s ok. It was just a dream. Everything is ok.”</p>
<p>Crowley drops his face into his palms. “Fuck…Sorry. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“Don’t apologize. It’s ok.” He runs a hand through Crowley’s hair, pushes the tangled waves away from his forehead. When Crowley looks up again his cheeks are damp. “You’re ok. I’ve got you.” Crowley nods and leans into him as he catches his breath.</p>
<p>Four little paws traipse across Aziraphale’s pillow and then settle into Crowley’s lap. They both look down and Crowley laughs quietly as he wipes at his face. “Emotional support cat.” Aziraphale laughs and hugs him closer.</p>
<p>“You need to start wearing your mouth guard again.”</p>
<p>Crowley groans. “I hate that thing.” He rubs at his jaw.</p>
<p>“You’ll grind your teeth down to nubs if you don’t. Plus, that thing was <em>not</em> cheap. I don’t care how nerdy it is. Put it in.”</p>
<p>“Yes <em>mom</em>.” He fumbles in the nightstand and pulls out the blue plastic wedge and pops it in, smiling sarcastically at Aziraphale. He mumbles around the guard, “appy?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale kisses his knuckles. “Immensely.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Crowley pulls up to the intersection and looks around. “What do you think. North-south or east-west.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale looks around. “Fuck if I know.” Crowley considers his options for a minute then puts the car in reverse and backs into an open spot a few car lengths behind them. He scans the area. On Tuesday Gabriel’s coffee cup held the numbers for this intersection on the north side. The area is fairly non-descript. Mostly businesses run north-south and the cross street is mostly residential, although there are a couple of shops tucked around the corners too. He’d spent several days surveilling the area with no luck. The cup, unhelpfully, didn’t give a date. Crowley had no idea that the date was encoded in those newspapers he had been staring at for months. Those folds he had stared at for so long really were encoded with the day of the week that someone would be waiting for a drop at the specified location.  </p>
<p>“You know this area?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale looks around. “I mean… I’ve been up this way before. Brunch with Tracy or something? I don’t know it well though.” Aziraphale scans the businesses. A few restaurants. A boutique. A hair salon. He eyes the window display of a pet shop that is overflowing with pet food and dog toys. “I think I got Eve a toy in there.”</p>
<p>“Softie.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale slaps his arm playfully. “So what now?”</p>
<p>“We wait. Keep an eye out for anything that seems suspicious. You’re the cop.”</p>
<p>“I’m an officer. Not a detective. I don’t exactly do stake-outs. I spend most of my time responding to tourists that got their camera stolen or businesses that can’t handle a few rowdy teenagers in their store.” He unbuttons his collar and pushes his blond curls back from his face. “God it is hot today. Turn on the AC.”</p>
<p>“We’re going to be here for hours. Roll down your window.”</p>
<p>“I’m beginning to regret asking to come with.”</p>
<p>Crowley ignores him. “My money is on the convenience store on the corner. Easy alley access. Locked back room. Security cameras are fake. And based on the reflection in the liquor bottles behind the counter, that guy has a gun under the counter.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale squints. “How the fuck can you even see that?”</p>
<p>Crowley waves his camera in the air. “This puppy’s got a serious zoom function.” He pulls up a photo on the little digital screen and shows Aziraphale. There is a slightly blurry grey shape reflected in a bottle of gin.</p>
<p>“I don’t know. That might be a stretch.”</p>
<p>“I’m telling you.” He jabs at the screen, “That is a gun.”</p>
<p>“If you say so.”</p>
<p>“I do.” Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Grab that bag behind my seat. I brought snacks. You can’t have a stake out without snacks.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale grabs the soft sided cooler bag and looks inside. Crowley has made up several Tupperware containers full of homemade snacks and fresh fruit. Chicago style kettle and cheddar popcorn mix and homemade energy bars and dehydrated mangos. There are grapes and bananas and a couple of slices of that plum tart too. Tucked in around a couple of ice packs are bottles of water and iced coffee. “I feel like we should be having shitty sandwiches and chips and gas station coffee. Like in the movies.”</p>
<p>“What kind of peasant do I look like?” He glances into the bag. “There are some sandwiches though.” At the bottom of the bag are two little plastic containers that are split down the middle. Aziraphale holds one up and squints at the contents.</p>
<p>“Is that a salad?!”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah! White beans, smoked trout, cherry tomatoes from the garden. They call it an ”airplane salad.” Supposed to hold up well for travel, so I figured it would work here too.”</p>
<p>On the other side of the divider is a sandwich wrapped tightly in wax paper. “What is the sandwich?”</p>
<p>“Brie and herbs on homemade French bread.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale marvels at the little neatly packed dinners. “You are a ridiculous man.”</p>
<p>“I just remember what it was like when you weren’t eating. I like it better this way. When I can feed you. Keep some meat on your bones.”</p>
<p>“Crowley that was ages ago! And it was only like… three weeks.”</p>
<p>“You got so skinny.”</p>
<p>“<em>You</em> are skinny. I was just… normal.”</p>
<p>“Oh fuck off. You are normal now. You were turning into a skeleton.” Aziraphale glances down at the soft place his stomach peeks over the waistband of his trousers and frowns. Crowley scoffs. “Oh don’t even start. We all have that when we sit down.” He pulls up the edge of his own shirt to show off the soft place where his belly creases. Leans forward a little to exaggerate it. “See!” He pokes it with a grin.</p>
<p>Aziraphale can’t help but smile. Crowley is so proud of that little pad of softness hidden among all of his sharp angles and stringy muscle. He wants to lean over and put his mouth on it and bite down. He knows Crowley would like that too. Crowley yanks his shirt back down and waves a finger at Aziraphale. “Nah ah. Don’t even think about it, mister. There are kids around.” He points to a mother walking with her toddler down the street.</p>
<p>Aziraphale throws his hands up. “I didn’t say anything!”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to say anything. We’ve been together since we were sixteen. I know what that look means.”</p>
<p>The afternoon drags on slowly. As the sun creeps higher and higher it gets hotter and hotter in the little black car. Aziraphale sips on a bottle of water then dumps a glug onto his face.</p>
<p>“Oi! Watch the upholstery!”</p>
<p>“Oh my god, I’m sure it will be fine. It’s just water.”</p>
<p>“Easy for you to say. You didn’t take months hunting down someone that could match the original color. Hard to find the right shade of burgundy. Let alone someone that wouldn’t botch the job.”</p>
<p>“You’re just picky. No one good enough to touch your baby. I swear sometimes you love this car more than me.”</p>
<p>“Oh come off it. I’m allowed to have a hobby that doesn’t involve you.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale grumbles and undoes another button at his collar. Sweat drips over the swell of his belly and seeps through the fabric of his shirt. “Is it so much to ask for a fucking breeze?” He tosses the empty bottle into the back seat angrily.</p>
<p>Crowley scowls and stares into the side mirror. A movement catches his eye. It’s a squirrel lugging a slice of pizza into the alley behind him. His lip quirks up. He giggles. Then full on snorts and laughs harder. Aziraphale stares at him, still annoyed. He points into the mirror and between giggles manages “Pizza squirrel!” Aziraphale turns around in time to see the squirrel disappear behind a building with the full slice of pepperoni pizza. He rolls his eyes but laughs too. More so at the fact that Crowley can’t seem to tamp down his giggles than at the pizza squirrel. Every time he starts to calm down they bubble back up until his eyes are tearing up. Eventually he settles down and takes a deep breath. Wipes at his cheeks. “Sorry for being snippy. It’s just the heat. I think I’m losing my goddamn mind.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale leans over and kisses him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry too.” He laughs again. “I fucking hate summer.”</p>
<p>Crowley digs into the little cooler bag and waggles his brows at Aziraphale “A little trick.” He takes out one of the small ice packs and without warning, yanks at Aziraphale’s waistband and jams it down his pants.</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s butt flies up off the seat as the soft gel pack conforms to the shape of his body. “Fucking hell!” Crowley bursts back into giggles as Aziraphale wiggles around and makes little high pitched yelping sounds. “Oh shit... oh… oh… Actually…” He settles back down slowly. “Actually that’s not half bad.” He wiggles around a bit and sighs. “Not bad at all.” It occurs to him that Crowley has gotten quiet. When he glances over Crowley is squinting and staring intently down the street. “What? What is it?” He looks up the street, following Crowley’s gaze.</p>
<p>“That guy.” He points to a man in a pair of black trousers and lace up boots. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and a black t-shirt that bulges out in the back where it has stuck to the sweat of his lower back. Aziraphale has enough experience to know he has a gun tucked into his waistband. He reaches into his shorts and pulls the ice pack out, dropping it back into the cooler bag.</p>
<p>“Hired gun?”</p>
<p>“Looks that way.” The man has a paper bag folded over and tucked under one arm. “Check the bag.” He gropes for the camera and takes a couple of quick shots of the man. “I think this is our guy.” The man jogs across the street toward the little corner convenience store. Then walks past it. “Fuck! I thought for sure…”</p>
<p>Aziraphale watches as the man takes a quick scan of the area. “Wait… I think…” The man ducks into the hair salon. “He’s gotta be.” Crowley reaches for the door handle and climbs out of the car. “What the fuck are you doing? Crowley?” He whisper shouts after him “Crowley get back in here. Anthony!”</p>
<p>Crowley closes the door and leans down to the window. “I’m just going to get a closer look. Sit tight.”</p>
<p>Before Aziraphale can respond he is pulling his sunglasses down onto his face and sauntering down the sidewalk. Aziraphale talks to the empty car. “Stubborn fucking bastard.” He chews at his nails as Crowley approaches the salon then takes a quick look back at the car before waltzing right inside. Aziraphale throws his hands up. “Oh fuck! AJ!” He glances at his feet. He’s tucked his service weapon away under it when they’d left. Just in case. Crowley is gone for several minutes. Aziraphale is having an internal meltdown about whether to grab his weapon and head into the salon himself when Crowley pops back out and walks casually back to the car.</p>
<p>Aziraphale freaks. “Don’t you <em>ever </em>fucking do that again. You want to get yourself shot? That guy had a fucking gun!”</p>
<p>“That guy wouldn’t risk shooting someone in the middle of the day for no reason. Not in this neighborhood.”</p>
<p>“You’re going to give me a heart attack.”</p>
<p>Crowley grins. “I got photos.”</p>
<p>“<em>What</em>? How?”</p>
<p>“Made an appointment.” He ruffles his hand through his hair. “A queen like me? Didn’t look out of place in a salon like that. Fancy chandeliers and everything, seriously. I might actually come back. Dude didn’t even glance my direction. I pulled up my “schedule” on my phone. Aka camera. He was dropping the bag with a woman. Young. Blonde. I’m going to bet someone will come pick up the drop at the end of the night.”</p>
<p>“End of the night?” Aziraphale glances at his watch. “You mean we’re sitting here for another <em>five</em> <em>hours</em>?”</p>
<p>Crowley smiles. “Welcome to surveillance, baby. This is my life.”</p>
<p>“Fuck am I glad I’m doing the cop part.”</p>
<p>“I’m also way better at the breaking and entering part.”</p>
<p>“True.”</p>
<p>“And the charming part. And the driving part.”</p>
<p>“Ok, ok. I get it.” They watch the man exit the salon and disappear around the corner. “You aren’t really getting a haircut, are you?”</p>
<p>Crowley smirks. “Depends. What kind of punishment am I looking at if I do?” Aziraphale shakes his head and rolls his eyes.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Seven hours, nearly all of their snacks, two runs for more iced coffee, half a season of ninety nine percent invisible and several gallons of sweat later the sun has dipped below the horizon and the salon finally closes up shop. Two hours past their posted time. Aziraphale has moved beyond the brink of murder to a quiet acceptance of his fate. For the past hour he has been imagining all of the ways that he is going to make sure Crowley sleeps soundly tonight. Smiling quietly to himself and occasionally adjusting himself discreetly. A police SUV pulls up to the curb and they both perk up.</p>
<p>Aziraphale glances at Crowley, “Do you think…”</p>
<p>Crowley snatches up his camera and snaps a couple of quick photos. “Yeah… yeah I think so.” The woman from the salon bounces out the door and leans into the open window of the SUV with the wrinkled paper bag. The officer in the passenger seat opens the bag and shuffles through the contents before pulling out a small wad of cash and handing it back to the woman. She jams it into her blouse and hurries away.</p>
<p>Aziraphale watches with his mouth hanging open. “My God. He must have half the force working for him.”</p>
<p>“We should follow them.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure?”</p>
<p>“If we can get the tradeoff. That money moving from their hands to his. All we would need to do is figure out who the guy is. The one that dropped the cash. Link it back to dropped charges or whatever he’s up to. And we’ll nail the fucker.”</p>
<p>“Ok... Ok let’s do it.” Aziraphale hurries to pick up the mess they’ve made of the car and Crowley hands his camera and cell phone to him as he starts the car.</p>
<p>“Open up the menu on the camera and scroll to the little app connect icon. It’s hooked up to my phone. It’ll upload those photos to the cloud and Beez will get a notification. They’ll know what to do.” Aziraphale gets to it as Crowley waits for the cops to pull away and drive past. He waits a beat then pulls a tight u-turn and follows after them, always a few car lengths behind.</p>
<p>The SUV slips through a yellow light and Aziraphale curses as they roll to a stop. “Relax, I’ve got it.” Crowley throws on his blinker and takes a right, then cuts down the next alley heading south again. He turns back toward the main road just in time to see the cops take a left another block down. He stays on the side street running parallel to them for a couple of blocks and Aziraphale is blown away by his timing. They always catch a glimpse of the SUV a block away, moving through the same intersections. Two blocks from another main thoroughfare Crowley increases his speed then cuts back to intersect with the SUV, taking a left to fall into pace behind it again. He keeps his distance until they pull over in front of a deli. “Shit.” He rolls past the idling SUV and takes the next right, makes a quick U-turn and pulls to the side of the street. They can just barely see the headlights of the SUV from their vantage point.</p>
<p>“Another drop?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think so. I haven’t seen this address yet. Did you recognize them?”</p>
<p>“Nah. They’re from another district. Probably the 19<sup>th</sup>? Department is down on Addison. I’ll find them.”</p>
<p>Twenty minutes later the SUV continues on. Crowley trails them as far as he can until traffic, both vehicle and pedestrian, gets dense. Aziraphale groans. “Fuck. Cubs game. We’re fucked.” Crowley bangs his fist on the steering wheel as another swarm of drunk Cubs fans flood the street in front of him and he loses sight of the SUV. When they finally exit the sea of blue Crowley searches meticulously but can’t regain the trail. They drive slowly past the station but the SUV isn’t in the lot. He drives too fast the rest of the way home grumbling about goats.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>At home Aziraphale turns the water in the shower to cold and steps under the spray with a quiet groan. The curtain slips open and Crowley steps in behind him. “Brought you something.” Aziraphale turns and Crowley hands him a beer.</p>
<p>“Nothing better than a shower beer.”</p>
<p>“Maybe shower sex.”</p>
<p>“Too much work. I just want someone to scrub my back.”</p>
<p>Crowley grabs a bright pink loofah from the little rack attached to the shower head. “I think that can be arranged.” The soap is minty and bright and tingles on all of Aziraphale’s most intimate places, which Crowley spends more time than necessary scrubbing gently. They pass the ice cold beer, a fancy ipa from a local brewery, back and forth, swapping it for the loofah. Aziraphale washes Crowley’s hair and as he lets the conditioner do its magic Crowley does the same for him. Eve is waiting impatiently on the bathroom sink when they finally step out of the shower.</p>
<p>“Didn’t you feed her?”</p>
<p>“Of course I did. She’s been bugging more lately. Super clingy.”</p>
<p>“She isn’t going hungry. Fatter every day, I swear.” They pad into the bedroom together, Eve on their heels, and collapse into bed. “I had big plans for tonight. Involving your dick.” Aziraphale yawns. “But I think we may need to postpone until tomorrow. I’m knackered.”</p>
<p>Eve settles in between Aziraphale’s knees and Crowley snuggles up close, resting his chin up against his shoulder and his palm on his belly. “Tomorrow’s good.”</p>
<p>“I love you.”</p>
<p>“Love you.”</p>
<p>“AJ?”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>“Don’t forget your mouth guard.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Airplane Salad</p>
<p>1 head bibb lettuce, leaves torn into several pieces<br/>16 ounces white beans, drained and rinsed<br/>2 cups cherry tomatoes, halved<br/>4 ounces smoked mackerel or smoked trout, pulled into small lumps<br/>1 tablespoon aged sherry vinegar<br/>1 teaspoon Dijon mustard<br/>Sea salt<br/>Freshly ground black pepper<br/>¼ cup excellent olive oil</p>
<p>In a large bowl, combine the lettuce, white beans, tomatoes and shredded mackerel or trout. In a small bowl, whisk together the vinegar, mustard and a little salt and pepper. Add the oil a little at a time, whisking constantly so that the dressing emulsifies and thickens. Season to taste.</p>
<p>Pour the dressing over the salad and toss to coat. Add more freshly ground black pepper, if desired. If flying, pack a serving into a plastic container.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Saturday morning post? Why not.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the morning Aziraphale wakes again to the sound of whimpers. Crowley is facing away from him, but even from behind he can see his ribs expanding and contracting quickly as his breathing becomes more ragged. Aziraphale glances at the clock. The sun is up, but it is still early. He rolls over and wraps an arm around Crowley’s waist, snuggles up close behind him so his face is buried in his hair. He kisses him softly behind his ear and whispers. “You’re safe. <em>I’m</em> safe. Shhh.” He feels Crowley tense under his arm then relax again. He rolls over and looks up at Aziraphale sleepily. He tries to smile, then rolls his eyes, and pulls his mouth guard out and tosses it toward his nightstand.</p>
<p>“I was dreaming about you.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale brushes his hair away from his brow, “I know, are you ok?”</p>
<p>Crowley smirks. “Not that kind of dream.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Crowley runs a finger under the waistband of Aziraphale’s boxers. “<em>Oh</em>.” Crowley leans forward and Aziraphale leans back. “Nuh uh. Teeth. Also I have to take a piss.”</p>
<p>Crowley groans and rolls onto his back. “Way to ruin the mood.”</p>
<p>“Not everyone even had a mood to ruin, you know.”</p>
<p>Crowley pushes himself up to sit on the edge of the bed and shrugs. “Worth a shot at least.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale drags himself to the bathroom and Crowley follows, leaning against the doorframe as Aziraphale pees. “Don’t you want to know?”</p>
<p>“Know what?”</p>
<p>“About the dream.” Aziraphale raises a brow. An invitation to continue. “I was wearing these huge stilettos and you were sucking my dick and giving me a foot rub.” Aziraphale laughs. “And you had makeup smeared across your face. And a British accent. It was all very hot.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale flushes the toilet and picks up his toothbrush. “Are we going to have to add feet to your list of fetishes?”</p>
<p>“Maybe? I guess we could always try it out.”</p>
<p>“You are ridiculous, you know that right?”</p>
<p>Crowley steps into the bathroom and picks up his toothbrush too. “They aren’t fetishes, you know. Just kinks.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale rolls his eyes.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>As the coffee brews Crowley continues to try to get Aziraphale into the mood. First by describing the dream in slightly more detail (and embellishing the parts he doesn’t really remember). Then by casually stretching in ways that make his back arch and his pubic hair peek out over the top of his boxer briefs. Then finally by leaning out over the railing of their balcony with his butt sticking way out behind him and his hip jutting out to the side as Aziraphale carries out two steaming mugs. One with sugar for Crowley and one with milk for himself. Aziraphale sets the mugs down onto the table and swats him across one cheek.</p>
<p>“I know what you’re doing.”</p>
<p>Crowley smiles over his shoulder. “Then why aren’t we back in bed?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale pushes up behind him, forcing him into a more upright position, and wraps his arms around his hips. He lets his fingers tickle across the low expanse of his belly and kisses his shoulder, then the side of his neck. “Because Beez is coming over in an hour.”</p>
<p>“And?” Crowley leans back into him.</p>
<p>“And that isn’t enough time for what I want to do to you.” Aziraphale pulls away and picks up his mug.</p>
<p>Crowley turns to him, one side of his lip quirked up. “Oh you are mean” He shifts so he can lean backward against the railing in front of Aziraphale then nudges him with his knee. “We could always just have a quickie.” Aziraphale glances at him over his mug. Takes a long sip. Glances back at the sun’s rays breaking over the skyline. Crowley leans down and braces a hand on the little table next to Aziraphale’s chair then lets the other slip down to his lap to paw at him through his boxers. “We could do it here.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiles up at him then pulls him forward until he plunks down into his lap, straddling his widely spread thighs. Crowley groans a little as Aziraphale grabs a handful of his ass and pulls him closer. He leans forward and puts his lips on Crowley’s chest. Just one small kiss. He pulls away and tilts his head to the side. “You can wait.”</p>
<p>Crowley groans and lets his head fall back. “I’m divorcing you.” Aziraphale laughs and kisses him again before smacking him on the butt.</p>
<p>“Get dressed. We’ve got shit to do.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Beez tucks their feet up under themself on the couch. “I really thought there would be more here.” They are shuffling through Crowley’s tidy little stacks of documents from the Solomon file. They peel the top sheet back from the medical examiner’s report. “This, though. This is good. They didn’t even try to make this look convincing.”</p>
<p>Crowley takes a bite of bacon and talks with his mouth full, little crumbs tumbling down his shirt. “Right? I mean, no gunshot reside on his hands? Ligature marks around his wrists? The entry wound is so far back. Who would believe that was a suicide.”</p>
<p>“The note doesn’t even match the handwriting samples. And come on. It is so generic.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale sets a plate of pancakes down on the arm of the couch next to Beez. “Keep an eye on that. Eve will run off with one if you let her.”</p>
<p>Beez stares down at the pancakes then pokes at one of them. Scrunches their face “What is that?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale sighs. “It is a blueberry, Beez. Eat.”</p>
<p>“Why ruin perfectly good pancakes with fruit?”</p>
<p>“Shut up and eat the damn pancakes. You could use the antioxidants”</p>
<p>Beez shoves a forkful into their mouth and chews slowly as they skim through the scanned notes. “Code names for their informants and the officers involved. Look at these financial accounts though. I can do something with these.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale sits down with his own plate. “I can’t believe no one snagged those. I know for a fact there used to be more photos in there. Shitty photos. But clearly someone thought to sneak them out of the record. I don’t even know how useful they would have been. But these accounts? That shit is all digital. And no one even tried to follow the cash flow.”</p>
<p>Beez takes another big bite of pancakes. “What a surprise. Investigative journalist about to drop a big story about police corruption and their sudden death doesn’t get its own investigation. Who would have thought?”</p>
<p>Crowley pipes up again. “I think we may be able to figure out who their informant is in the transcripts of the interviews. Apparently Solomon deleted the audio immediately, but there are definitely hints in here. Check out the green tabs in the transcript stack.”</p>
<p>Beez tosses the financial records aside and Crowley scrambles to keep the documents organized, grumbling. They sift through the stack of transcripts while they chew on a piece of bacon. They pause. “It’s a woman.”</p>
<p>Crowley perks up. “Totally. It has to be.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale grabs the top few sheets from Beez and sorts through them. “What? Why do you think that?”</p>
<p>Beez hands him another sheet. “Look at this. The informant mentions how often the offending officers interrupt them here. And other officers getting recognition for the things they did. And look here, they talk about it being an old boys club. It’s the reason they don’t want to bring them into the fold. They don’t trust her because she’s a woman.”</p>
<p>Crowley snorts. “Looks like she has bigger balls than any of the guys she works with.”</p>
<p>Beez flashes him a snarl. “Balls have nothing to do with it.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughs and nods in agreement. “How is it possible to figure out who the informant is though? That could be anybody. Even if it is a woman, that still leaves almost a quarter of the force. That’s like 3,000 people. They might not even be a cop anymore.”</p>
<p>Beez frowns. “It might not matter. Hopefully we can expose the rest of this. Follow the money. Show that the informant was right whether we know who they are or not. That the biggest, richest names in the city are making monthly payments to a solid chunk of the PD to keep out of trouble. And that motherfucker is heading it all up.”</p>
<p>As Beez jams the last bite of their pancake into their mouth Crowley pipes in again. “How is progress going on our next mark?”</p>
<p>“It’s going. Would have been further along if you two hadn’t run off for some lovers tryst last weekend.” Aziraphale sighs and Beez continues. “This is a serious one though. This guy is seriously dangerous.”</p>
<p>Crowley scrunches his face, “Oh come on. We just fucked with the Reaper. Is this guy really any worse?”</p>
<p>“Way worse. He is way more slick and has an even higher body count.” Aziraphale shudders. He hates that he has given in and agreed to go after this guy. “Everything is old school. No wire transfers. No cell phones. And he doesn’t give a fuck if you are on your way to church with your grandma when your name comes up. He’ll pop you both and leave you in an alley to rot.” Crowley flinches and Beez cringes. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine.” He doesn’t sound fine.</p>
<p>“Really, Crowley. That was a dick thing to say. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“I said it is fine.” Aziraphale reaches out and rubs his back. Slow soothing circles. He looks to Beez and mouths '<em>It’s okay'</em> before Beez continues.</p>
<p>“Anyway. We’re <em>not</em> going old school. We are getting all up in his shit and taking the money right out from under his nose. And while we’re in there, we’re planting a bug. Word on the street is this guy has a direct line to Gabriel, and we want him to use it. We want Gabriel in his office, getting reamed.”</p>
<p>“Are we sure this is a good idea? I have a bad feeling about it. I don’t like Crowley going in there alone.”</p>
<p>“Well, you can’t exactly do it. And I need to be his eyes and ears. And this is the final job. Once we get this, we can dump all the info at once and there’s no way it slides off Gabriel’s back. Everyone will throw him right under that fucking bus to save their own asses and if we’re lucky, Gabriel will do his best to drag them all under with him.”</p>
<p>Crowley smiles up at Aziraphale. “And then you can leave the force and we’ll use that little bit we’ve been skimming off the top to get you that bookshop you’ve always dreamed of.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiles back at Crowley, but he is still nervous. Crowley is his everything. He can hardly even remember what life was like before they met. If anything were to happen to him… Crowley takes his hand. “Don’t go there. I can tell where your mind is going. I can see it. Stop.”</p>
<p>“So what happens first?”</p>
<p>Beez gets visibly excited. “First, Crowley is learning safe cracking. We’ve already been practicing this week. The man is a natural thief, I’m telling you. He’ll have that part down in a month or two.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale leans into Crowley. “Why do I find that so hot?”</p>
<p>Beez rolls their eyes and continues. “While we do that, we’ll also be running surveillance. Guys got a crew. But the safe isn’t always on lockdown. We need to figure out when the building is empty and if it is random, we need to figure out some quick exits. And I mean real quick. Crowley needs to be a ghost in a pinch. I hope you are doing sprints while you’re out running.”</p>
<p>Crowley nods. “Speedwork every week.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale blows air out between his lips. “Trust me, he leaves me in the dust every fucking time. I mean… look at those calves.”</p>
<p>Beez glares. “I’d rather not. Also, in the future please put on pants before I come over. I don’t want to see you hanging dong all over the place. You guys are fucking vile.”</p>
<p>Crowley snorts. “Noted.”</p>
<p>“Anyway. After we get a schedule set, we slip him in, grab the cash, plant a bug, and get the fuck out. Nothing else. It needs to be quick and clean. In and out and then we wait until Gabriel shows.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale looks at Crowley. “Quick and clean.”</p>
<p>Crowley nods. “Quick and clean.”</p>
<p>“And we settled on Adam over at Tribune for the info dump, yeah? He’s our best bet to break the story?”</p>
<p>Crowley nods again. “Yeah, Adam Young. I’ve been making sure he is the first with the info up to this point. He hasn’t snitched that he has a line to the vigilante. He’s got a lot of leeway with his editors and people like him. They trust him. He’s also been tough on CPD before, so he doesn’t have any loyalties. We’ve got a couple of backups though, just in case. Trust me, people are going to want to publish this. It’s going to sell papers.”</p>
<p>Beez gets up and piles more pancakes onto their plate. For such a small person they really can pack in the carbs. They come back to the couch with a slice of bacon hanging out of their mouth. “You guys are still on for dinner with Tracy on Thursday, right?”</p>
<p>Crowley lights up. “Of course! I haven’t seen in her in like… a month.”</p>
<p>“Crowley is making pie.”</p>
<p>“Wait… we’re supposed to bring something?” A blueberry slips out of Beez’s mouth and lands on their plate.</p>
<p>Crowley shrugs. “I just like pie.”</p>
<p>They spend the next hour discussing pie and etiquette and safe cracking and the fact that Eve must be visiting more neighbors because she seems to be getting rounder every day. The cat does manage to steal an entire pancake off of Crowley’s unattended plate and proceeds to run around the apartment with it, covering half of their home in sticky maple syrup. Beez trudges back across the street to the flat they used to share and the day gets ungodly hot. Aziraphale and Crowley strip down to nearly nothing and eventually Aziraphale gets around to his plans from the night before, which now involve a popsicle and his handcuffs.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>
  <em>Then</em>
</p>
<p>“I’m sorry. I… I really thought I would be ok. God.. I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>Crowley grips Aziraphale’s hand tightly as he tears back toward the apartment they share with Beez. He brings it to his lips and kisses the back of it softly. “Zira, it’s ok. Really. We should have been expecting that. We should have gone slower.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale sucks down a deep breath and wipes at his nose with a trembling hand. “Honestly…” He laughs a little. “I thought the situation would be reversed. I thought… I really thought I’d…” his chin wobbles. Out of the corner of his eye Crowley can see Aziraphale blink back tears.</p>
<p>“It’s ok. We’ll figure it out. Take things slower. We’re ok. Everything is ok.” Aziraphale nods but Crowley can see the disappointment in his face. That his tears are as much about embarrassment as they are about fear. It is ten months since the incident. Ten months and it still feels like yesterday that Crowley sat in that waiting room with his knee bouncing and his heart in his throat. Today was the first day they were putting their plan into motion. Their original plan, at least. As it would turn out, their plan would morph so many times it would become such an unimaginable beast that they would never fully understand how they had ended up so deep. Their original plan was simple. Tail Gabriel and get evidence of his wrongdoings. Aziraphale had seen Gabriel in a million compromising situations before he had laid him out in that alley. Had always been willing to turn a blind eye and keep his distance. This would be easy. Simple as pie.</p>
<p>Things didn’t exactly go well. Beez had managed to hack into his cruiser’s GPS system and track his location. Crowley and Aziraphale had driven together back to the south side to get eyes on him. They planned to get some practice in following him undetected. To begin to get a feel for his day to day on his beat so that they could identify anomalies and catch him in some shady dealings.</p>
<p>When Crowley pulled the car close enough that they could actually <em>see</em> Gabriel, Aziraphale had had a full on meltdown. Heart wrenching sobs that had ripped Crowley’s right in two. Crowley had thrown the car in reverse so fast he had almost caused an accident. He’d then spent the next ten minutes with one hand on the wheel and the other on Aziraphale, passing cars in the parking lane and nearly clipping pedestrians as he raced to get Aziraphale somewhere he felt safe. Somewhere he could wrap him up tight and try to take as much of the hurt away as possible. Aziraphale had eventually caught his breath and removed his face from between his knees and immediately started apologizing. The apologies and the embarrassment kill Crowley almost as much as the sobs. The thought that Gabriel could hurt Aziraphale in so many ways filled him with white hot rage. He tucked it away. Aziraphale needed him calm and in control. And so he was.</p>
<p>Crowley steers with his knee and dials his phone with one hand while still holding Aziraphale’s hand with the other. Beez picks up on the first ring. “I’m pulling up out front in two minutes. I need you there to take Zira upstairs while I park.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s lip trembles, “Crowley… You don’t…”</p>
<p>Crowley smiles weakly and squeezes his hand while he continues to talk to Beez. “Not the time, Beez. I’m fucking serious.” He turns toward the window and talks softly. “Yeah… not good…”  When they pull up in front of the building Beez is standing on the sidewalk shivering against the cold. They didn’t grab their own coat, but they do have the soft little throw blanket from the back of the couch. Their face is plastered with worry. Brows drawn tightly together. Mouth a thin line. As Crowley slows to a stop and throws on the flashers Beez is there, opening the passenger side door and wrapping the blanket around Aziraphale. As Beez hurries Aziraphale back into the building Crowley can see his shoulders begin to shake again. As soon as he is out of sight Crowley drops his face to the steering wheel and lets his own tears fall. A minute later he tucks it away again, wipes his nose on his sleeve and pulls away to find a parking spot.</p>
<p>When Crowley comes through the front door Beez is pacing around the apartment. They whisper loudly at him, arms flailing. “What the fuck happened out there, Crowley? What the fuck?”</p>
<p>Crowley shrugs off his jacket and kicks off his boots. “Nothing happened. He just… he just got overwhelmed. He hasn’t seen him since that day. He hasn’t really… He doesn’t really like to talk about it. I just assumed…” He sighs and drops his head. “I didn’t know it would hurt so much to see him again, you know?” Crowley peeks into the rest of the apartment. “Where is he?”</p>
<p>“Shut himself in your room as soon as he came through the door. Would hardly even talk to me. Just kept apologizing.” Crowley runs his hands through his hair and curses quietly. “What about you? How are you doing?”</p>
<p>Crowley shrugs. “Ok I guess? I mean… I’ve seen him… since...”</p>
<p>“You what? When?”</p>
<p>“I…” Crowley sighs heavily. “I’ve trailed him a few times.” Beez’s mouth drops. “I know, I know! Stupid. I know. For a long time, after… For a long time I still wanted to kill him. So I followed him. Look, don’t tell Aziraphale. He doesn’t need to worry more.”</p>
<p>Crowley crosses the apartment and puts his hand on the doorknob to the room he shares with Aziraphale. Beez puts a hand on his elbow. “Holler if you guys need something. Otherwise I’ll give you space.” Crowley nods and heads into the room.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>For the next six months Aziraphale and Crowley practice getting closer and closer to Gabriel. First just watching his car from a block away. Letting him get in and drive away and then coming back the next day and doing it again. Crowley spends every night on the internet researching ways to cope. Ways to face anxiety and confront your emotions. He finds words to describe his anger and his sadness and his fear that he didn’t know he had. He wants to show Aziraphale that he is struggling too. That he hurts too. That Aziraphale isn’t alone in the way that he feels. That they can work through it together and support each other the way they always have.</p>
<p>Aziraphale struggles. He thinks he knows how he feels, but when he tries to tell Crowley the words get confused and he stutters and gets frustrated. When he is afraid it comes out as anger and when he is angry it comes out as tears and when he is sad he gets embarrassed. It makes him feel emotionally crippled. He bottles things up instead. Crowley buys him a beautiful leather bound journal with his initials monogrammed on the corner and on days when it is hard to get the words out of his throat he writes them down instead. He fills the journal in two months and Crowley buys him a second. And then a third.</p>
<p>One day, after working and working and working on ways to contain the physical reactions to their anxiety and their fear Crowley drags Aziraphale into an elevator and it climbs up and up and up and they step out onto the balcony of that high rise that overlooks the lake and it takes time but Aziraphale prevails.</p>
<p>They get closer and closer to Gabriel but they can’t catch him in a job. Not at first. He’s gotten more careful. More guarded. He has other people doing his dirty work. Almost two years after the incident they manage to catch a couple of photos of a low rank dealer slipping Gabriel cash and drugs. They send the evidence to the precinct anonymously and celebrate all week. They wait and they wait and they wait and nothing happens. They send the evidence again. Nothing. Crowley calls the precinct and no one can give him any information. It is like Gabriel is untouchable. They trail Gabriel for another six months and they start to learn his circle. The cops that stick to his back like remora. They start to follow the news. Start to notice the cases that he and his crew handle that mysteriously disappear. All the little places where charges refuse to stick and the bad guy always manages to slip away.</p>
<p>“I’m telling you, this is the best way to chase this all out. To get the information we need.”</p>
<p>Crowley shakes his head. “You? A cop? Do you really want to do that? Angel, you’ll be miserable.”</p>
<p>“I mean… there are things that I like about the idea of being a cop. I could help people. That part sounds good. And it wouldn’t be forever. Just until we get what we need.”</p>
<p>Beez scrunches their face. “Officer Fell… I hate it.”</p>
<p>“Please. You work for the fucking government. I don’t want to hear it.” Aziraphale takes a sip of beer. “I’ll finish out my degree next semester and apply to the academy. When we nail his ass, I resign. I’ll have a bachelor’s and work experience and we’ll move on.”</p>
<p>“But… he’s still a cop. What if you end up partners or something?” Crowley shudders as he says it.</p>
<p>“He’s a detective now. I would just be an officer. Plus, I did some research, his precinct is on a hiring freeze. I’d probably end up downtown or up north. Plus, I mean, worst case scenario I bail.”</p>
<p>The three of them sit together in silence for a while before Crowley smirks and nudges Aziraphale with his foot. “You’ll get handcuffs right?”</p>
<p>Beez groans audibly. “You guys have <em>got</em> to get your own place. I’m so tired of listening to your weird sex.”</p>
<p>At the end of the semester Aziraphale gets his degree. He doesn’t walk across the stage, but Beez and Crowley throw him a party anyway. When they have both passed out he stares at the Chicago PD website. There is an exam. And a physical fitness test. He pulls out his newest leather journal and starts taking notes. He looks over his shoulder at Crowley snoring on the bed behind him and smiles. Tomorrow, they are going to go for a run. And Crowley is going to hate it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Now</em>
</p>
<p>Crowley is washing dishes when he hears the front door open and close quietly. He glances at the clock on the stove. Aziraphale shouldn’t be home for another hour. He snatches up a towel and dries his hands as he peeks toward the entryway. From his vantage point all he can see are the fluffy blond tips of Aziraphale’s curls. He drops the towel and hurries toward him, panic creeping up his legs and settling into his stomach. Aziraphale is sitting on the floor, back against the door with his face in his hands. Elbows propped on his knees. As if all of his energy had evaporated as soon as he was inside the door. Crowley kneels next to him and puts a hand on his shin.</p>
<p>“What happened? Angel, are you ok?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale sighs and runs his hands over his face. Peeks out over his fingertips to meet Crowley’s eyes. His eyes are dry. Crowley relaxes a little. He speaks from behind his hands. “He came into the station today.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s eyes go wide.  His other hand goes to the side of Aziraphale’s face. “Did… did he do anything to you? Because I swear to God…”</p>
<p>Aziraphale cuts him off. “No, nothing like that. I… I don’t… He didn’t acknowledge me at all. I don’t think he saw me.” The tension in Crowley’s body dissipates and he exhales. He realizes he is gripping Aziraphale’s leg tightly and lets his fingers loosen. “But he was <em>right there</em>. I… He hasn’t been that close. Since…”</p>
<p>“Are you ok?” Aziraphale nods. Crowley tilts his face down. “Are you sure?”</p>
<p>He chews at his trembling lower lip for a minute then shakes his head. “No. I don’t know. I… God I don’t even really remember driving home. I think I’m ok. Now. I was <em>scared</em>, though. He walked right by me. Right by my desk. I could have reached out and touched him. And as soon as he passed by I just… I got up. And I left. I just fled.” He drops his face into his hands again. “God that is pathetic. I’m such a fucking coward.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you dare say that.” Crowley pulls his face up out of his palms. “Don’t you <em>dare</em>.” Aziraphale drops his eyes. Hides himself from the intensity in Crowley’s. He’s embarrassed. And he’s embarrassed that he is embarrassed. “Look at you.” Crowley takes one of Aziraphale’s hands and turns it over, peels his fingers back. “Your palms are dry.” He presses his fingers to Aziraphale’s wrist. “Your pulse is steady.” He puts a palm on Aziraphale’s chest. “Your breathing is even. You left, but you were calm. You made it home. You did great. What else would you have done? Confronted him? Stuck around and let him confront you? You made good decisions even when you were afraid. That isn’t pathetic. It isn’t cowardly. Everyone gets scared. What matters is how you react. And you fucking killed it. So don’t you <em>dare</em> try to say that you are anything but brave.” Aziraphale looks up between his lashes at Crowley, but he doesn’t speak. “And now you’re home, and you don’t have to be a cop. You’re not Officer Fell. You can just be you. Aziraphale. We can just relax. Here…” he shifts and unties Aziraphale’s boots then pulls them off his feet, followed by his socks. Aziraphale watches him with a blank expression. Allows Crowley to peel the hurt away with his words and his hands. And he knows, eventually, with his lips and his tongue.</p>
<p>Crowley stands and offers both hands to Aziraphale, who takes them and lets Crowley pull him to his feet. Then he lets Crowley remove his holster and service weapon. Then his cuffs. He slips his badge up over his head from where it hangs around his neck. He sets everything carefully into a little lock box next to their front door and clicks it shut. “Leave all that at the precinct. You’re home now. You’re safe. And we’re <em>going</em> to relax. Come on.” He takes Aziraphale by the hand and leads him into their bedroom where he peels his shirt up over his head and runs his fingertips over his chest. Traces them through Aziraphale’s chest hair and over his soft belly. He slips Aziraphale’s belt out of the loops and tugs his jeans down over his hips, then kneels to pull them off of Aziraphale’s feet. His pale blue cotton boxers follow. Crowley stands back up and kisses Aziraphale on the top of his shoulder. “Get comfy, I’ll be right back.”</p>
<p>When Crowley gets back to the bedroom Aziraphale is sitting up on the side of the bed. “That doesn’t look very comfy. Try again.” Aziraphale finally smiles a little. Just one corner of his lips tilting up. “Here.” He holds up a fat little pipe, clear with pink and yellow swirls embedded deep inside. In his other hand is a yellow lighter. Aziraphale takes both, his lips tilting just a fraction higher. “We’re going to relax.” He grabs his own shirt by the collar and pulls it over his head. “And I’m going to make you feel good. And help you forget about today.” Aziraphale lets his eyes wander over Crowley’s bare chest and Crowley watches as he licks his lips. “On your belly.” Aziraphale moves. Slow. Like honey. But not onto his belly. Instead, he reaches out a steady hand and slips it between Crowley’s thighs, grips him low, just above the back of his knee, and pulls him close enough that he can lean forward and put his mouth on the curve of Crowley’s ribcage. He kisses the soft pale skin stretched taut over his ribs and then follows a smattering of freckles to the place just below his sternum. Once there, he rests his forehead against him. Feels the slow and steady rise and fall of his diaphragm. Crowley’s long thin fingers comb through his hair, brushing it back and away from his face.</p>
<p>Crowley can feel the heat of Aziraphale’s words as he speaks against his belly. “Thank you. I love you.” He leans back to look up at Crowley’s face. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Crowley folds at his waist and brings their lips together.</p>
<p>“You’ve got me. So you don’t need to worry about it. You’ll always have me. Always.” Aziraphale pulls away and lays down on the bed, his face and arms hanging off the foot and his feet resting on his pillow. As Crowley moves to straddle his hips Aziraphale brings the bowl to his lips and watches as the flame leans down inside chasing after his breath. The fuzzy little crumbs glow brightly as he inhales slow and deep. He closes his eyes and holds the acrid smoke in his lungs as Crowley runs his fingers and palms up either side of his spine then folds them over the tense muscles of Aziraphale’s shoulders and kneads deeply. He sets the bowl and lighter down on the floor under his face as he exhales and crosses his hands under his chin, smoke rising around his face and up toward the ceiling. Crowley works his thumbs into a knot between his shoulder blade and spine. Opens up that tight narrow space until the muscle softens, leaving Aziraphale groaning. As he moves to the other side Aziraphale picks the bowl back up and takes another long drag. Then a third immediately after. He hands it over his shoulder and hears the air crackle as Crowley inhales behind him.</p>
<p>Two warm hands return to Aziraphale’s shoulder then up into his hair to massage at his scalp. Aziraphale can feel a warmth and a tingle in his body already. Can feel his heartbeat in his head as much as his chest. He feels fuzzy. The air feels cool as it fills his lungs. He remembers the fingers in his hair and presses back into the touch with a moan. He can hear Crowley giggle quietly above him and he smiles sleepily against his hands, which have settled back under his chin. He focuses on his heartbeat and the feel of Crowley’s fingers as they slide down out of his hair and all the way down onto the soft expanse between his ribcage and pelvis. His thumbs press deep and Aziraphale can literally feel the tension melting off of his bones. He imagines it slipping onto the floor and seeping through the floorboards. He follows it in his mind down into the depths of the earth. Crowley slips back so he is straddling Aziraphale’s thighs. Those two miraculous hands slip lower and dig into his glutes and he squeaks at the touch, sending Crowley into a fit of giggles above him. Crowley folds over and rests his forehead on Aziraphale’s upper back as he tries to contain his laughter and the movement presses his half hard cock firmly up against the lowest part of Aziraphale’s ass. His mind is heavy. Can only seem to focus on one thing at a time. Crowley’s giggles fade from the forefront and he can only feel arousal. Crowley’s arousal. His arousal. It’s as if the room is suddenly overflowing with it. He can feel his heartbeat in his belly.</p>
<p>He doesn’t fully realize that he is pressing back against Crowley until he feels Crowley react. Pushing forward against him too.</p>
<p>“Crowley…” He replays the word to himself. Hears his own voice over and over in his head. His scalp feels cold and he focuses on it for a minute. Or maybe several minutes. It feels a little like reality is happening in snapshots. Each moment in time slipping out of his fingers in a little white frame and falling to the floor. Chasing his tension down into the foundation of the building and into the thick sandy clay beneath. In this one Crowley is pressing his mouth against the side of Aziraphale’s neck. In the next his mouth is trailing down his spine. Then his hands are spreading Aziraphale’s thighs, pushing a knee up and out to the side. Now Crowley’s tongue is pressing against him. Flicking up then tracing circles around that tight hot ring of muscle. All of Aziraphale’s nerve endings tingle. Like his entire human corporation has fallen asleep and now the blood is rushing back to every inch of his body at once. He can hear himself whining against his knuckles and then groaning as Crowley pushes his tongue inside him. The sound echoes in his memory. His cock is trapped between his body and the bed. He can feel his heartbeat there too and he ruts down against the mattress, searches for friction. Chases every sensation.</p>
<p>He tries to speak but his words come out muffled. He realizes that he has gripped the sheets and pushed himself backward, his face pressing into the edge of the mattress.</p>
<p>Crowley pulls his mouth away. “Hmm?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale turns his face to the side. His voice is low and thick with lust. “I said fuck me. Please.”</p>
<p>“Well. Since you asked so nicely.” The bed shifts and a moment later Aziraphale feels a slippery fingertip press into him. His body tenses instinctively at the intrusion. “Ok?” Aziraphale nods, lets his body relax. Crowley strokes Aziraphale’s back with one hand and pushes in further with the other. Aziraphale pushes his hips back against Crowley’s hand and Crowley groans behind him. “God you’re fucking hot.” He squeezes Aziraphale’s hip to slow his movements and as he pushes back in he adds a second finger and presses down against Aziraphale’s prostate.</p>
<p>Aziraphale shudders beneath him and a quiet string of curses tumble out of his mouth. He returns to rocking back onto Crowley’s hand. He loses his grasp on time. How long has he been fucking himself on Crowley’s fingers? He doesn’t care. He keeps pushing his hips forward and back, his cock leaking underneath him. He can feel a third fingertip tease at him each time he pushes back, and the anticipation is almost as good as the fucking he’s getting. The next time he pushes back the tip of that third finger slides in with the other two, shallowly at first, then deeper with each thrust of Crowley’s hand. Crowley has leaned down and gotten his mouth on his ass cheek where his bites and kisses and licks as he fucks harder into him with his fingers. Aziraphale moans and whimpers and is falling apart underneath him.</p>
<p>Crowley doesn’t ask, he doesn’t need to. He knows Aziraphale. He knows he’s ready. As he withdraws his fingers Aziraphale presses himself up onto his knees. Crowley kneels behind him and lines up his cock and before he can even move Aziraphale is pushing himself backward and sheathing Crowley fully inside himself in one movement. Crowley’s fingers find Aziraphale’s thigh and dig in as he groans deeply. “God you’re so tight. So… <em>god</em>.” Aziraphale pulls his hips forward and slides back again, squeezing his muscles around Crowley with the movement. “Oh fuck.” Aziraphale does it again and again and Crowley finally collects himself enough to respond with his own body, thrusting slowly back against Aziraphale. He runs his hands up Aziraphale’s spine and then back down his sides. “Angel… Oh god, I want… I want more…” Crowley is panting between his words. “I want to feel more of you.” His hands skirt down his thighs then back up his sides until he can wrap them under his chest and pull him upright.</p>
<p>As he sits back onto his heels Aziraphale melts against his chest, his head tilting to the side to capture Crowley’s mouth with his own. Crowley holds him tightly with one arm around his belly and the other around his chest. Aziraphale lays his hand on top of Crowley’s where it grips the front of his shoulder. HIs other skates over his own body until he can slide it down and back to grasp Crowley’s hip beneath him. Here is another snapshot. A lover’s embrace. A shape Aziraphale imagines carved from marble.</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s face is twisted up in pleasure as he bounces gently in Crowley’s lap. As Crowley sucks at the side of his throat he begins to babble. “I love you. Love you. You’re so good. So good to me. Feel so good. Fuck… Don’t… don’t stop. Just like that.” Crowley finds his cock where it is bouncing against his belly, leaving shiny sticky trails in its wake, and begins to stroke him. Aziraphale lets his head fall back, mouth open toward the ceiling, eyes fluttering closed. Another snapshot. Ecstasy.</p>
<p>Crowley sucks his earlobe between his teeth and nibbles there. “I love you. I’m yours. Always. Always.” Aziraphale sucks in a sharp breath and his eyes pop open as he spills heavily over Crowley’s fist, moaning loudly. His entire body trembles as Crowley continues to thrust up into him. His muscles clench tightly around Crowley as he continues to nudge against his prostate with each thrust. “Fuck, oh <em>fuck</em>, Angel.” He thrusts hard one last time and holds himself deep as he comes, pulsing inside of Aziraphale. Filling him. A final snapshot slips between his grasp. Love. Possession.</p>
<p>Their bodies tremble and shake against one another as they come down. Aziraphale unclenches his fingers from Crowley’s body and Crowley does the same and when Aziraphale opens his eyes again they are laying side by side in the bed. Crowley wipes his hand on the sheets and when Aziraphale frowns at him he shrugs. “Was planning on doing laundry tonight anyway.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale wiggles his hips back and forth. He can feel a warm trickle between his cheeks. “Probably a good idea.”</p>
<p>Crowley flops over onto his side and props himself up on an elbow. He reaches out and runs his fingertips from Aziraphale’s hairline over his forehead then across his eyelids, closing them gently, and continuing down over his nose and cheeks and lips. Aziraphale takes a deep breath and focuses on the feeling of Crowley’s fingers. They’ve been doing this since they were teenagers. Since they first crossed that boundary and explored new ways to touch and to know one another. Just fingers, brushing against skin. Telling each other things they didn’t yet know how with their words. Crowley’s fingers trace along his jawline then over his adam’s apple then around to circle his ear. Aziraphale leans into his touch. His breathing slows. His jaw goes slack. It is nostalgia. It is hypnotism.</p>
<p>The fingers are tracing his cupid’s bow and he realizes he’s drifted to sleep for a moment. He forces his lids open and Crowley smiles fondly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Welcome back.” Aziraphale takes his hand and presses his lips to his palm.</p>
<p>“Why are you so good to me?”</p>
<p>Crowley pulls Aziraphale’s hand to his own lips. “Because you’re my world.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We're halfway there! Thanks for sticking with it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Then</em>
</p><p>“Are you sure this is a good idea? Don’t you want to… I don’t know… Play straight for a while?”</p><p>Aziraphale scrunches his face. “Why the fuck would I want to play straight?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Buddy up with the other guys? You don’t think they are going to look at you differently after this?” Crowley tucks in his shirt and frowns at himself in the mirror.</p><p>“It’s not like I haven’t talked about it while I was in the academy.”</p><p>“Yeah, but your supervisors don’t know. And now I’m supposed to go up on stage and pin your badge on you?”</p><p>“It’s not like I go up and announce it, like ‘hey everyone here is my gay husband that I have gay sex with.’ You could be a friend or a relative or something for all they know.”</p><p>“Oh come on, they are totally going to know. Plus,” he nudges Aziraphale with his hip, “I don’t think relatives usually kiss the way we’re going to kiss if you make me go up on that stage.”</p><p>Aziraphale waggles his brows, “Oh, please don’t tempt me like that. You know I like an audience.”</p><p>Crowley ignores him and stares at himself in the mirror. “Is this too much black? I feel like I look like I’m going to a funeral.”</p><p>Aziraphale shrugs. “Seems appropriate to me.” Crowley snorts. “Is Beez actually bringing a date? I couldn’t tell if they were joking or not.”</p><p>“I guess so. They were fretting over what to wear all morning.”</p><p>“Are you serious?” Crowley grins at Aziraphale in the mirror and nods. “Since when does Beez care about how they look? They wear leggings and ratty old band tees every day.”</p><p>“When they are hoping to get laid.”</p><p>“I don’t think police academy graduation is the sexiest of venues.”</p><p>“I don’t know… all those uniforms? I know I’ll be sporting a semi the whole time.”</p><p>Aziraphale laughs loudly and pulls Crowley’s hair back into a low bun. ”You sure you don’t want to leave it down?”</p><p>“I’ll futz with it the whole time if it’s down. And so will you. Then we’ll look even more gay. I’ll take it down when we get to the bar afterward. When people aren’t judging me so hard.”</p><p>“No one is going to be judging you.”</p><p>“Aziraphale. I’m a police husband. To a man. They will <em>all</em> be judging me.”</p><p>There is a knock on the door and Crowley spins around to Aziraphale. “That must be Beez’s date!” They hurry out of their bedroom and lurk in the kitchen as Beez scrambles to the door. They grin like idiots as Beez scowls at them both and flips them the bird then turns to the door.</p><p>They smooth their hands over their shirt then pull open the door. “Hey, come on in. You remember these two idiots, right?”</p><p>Crowley’s jaw drops. Aziraphale elbows him and extends a hand as she crosses the room to where they are standing, “Dr. Device! It’s been a while!”</p><p>She grips his hand and smiles, “Aziraphale! You are looking much better than the last time I saw you.”</p><p>He laughs and absentmindedly runs his hand through his hair, fingers grazing over the scar hidden there. “Yeah, healed up really well. Your lot took pretty good care of me over there.”</p><p>Crowley snorts, “Yeah, sure.” Aziraphale elbows him again.</p><p>“And AJ, it’s so good to see you again.”</p><p>He dips his head. “I, uh, I don’t think I ever got a chance to thank you. Properly. You were the only doctor that showed me any kindness that day. It was really ballsy what you did. Sneaking me back into the ICU. So… thank you. Really. ”</p><p>The corners of her lips quirk up, “That day really changed the way that I ended up pursuing medicine.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiles, “Really?”</p><p>“Yeah. After my residency I started over at Howard Brown. I’d always heard about unequal access. Disparities in treatment and care. I saw those healthcare and support disparities in action that day and I wanted to do what I could to eliminate them. And I couldn’t be happier with where I ended up. So thank <em>you</em>.” Crowley smiles weakly. She turns to Aziraphale. “So, Aziraphale. A cop?”</p><p>He hesitates, glances at Beez. “Uh, yeah. A little unconventional, I know. But I guess it’s kind of like what you’re doing. Be the change on the inside, you know.”</p><p>Anathema nods, “Mmhmm. And the uh, the guy that put you in the hospital. Anything ever happen to him?”</p><p>Beez nudges her and looks back at Aziraphale and Crowley, “Anathema knows. The, uh, the situation. Vaguely.”</p><p>Aziraphale shrieks a little, “Beez!”</p><p>Anathema winks, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. If it is any consolation, Beez waited like, a year into our relationship to tell me.”</p><p>This time Crowley shrieks, “A year?!”</p><p>Beez frowns, “We’ve been friends since we met in the hospital, ok?”</p><p>“And how long has this,” Crowley waves his hands around in their direction, “been going on?”</p><p>“We’ve been sleeping together on and off for the past few months, but we’ve decided to try out something more exclusive recently.” Beez blushes and Aziraphale is certain it is the only time in their entire life that they’ve done so. Crowley is impressed by how straightforward Anathema is. Aziraphale is impressed that she can embarrass Beez.</p><p>-</p><p>The graduation ceremony goes as expected. Crowley blushes and fumbles the entire time he is pinning the badge on Aziraphale, worried about all of those cop eyes on him. Beez scowls at every single person in the room except for Anathema, including, though, Crowley and Aziraphale. A handful of cops give Aziraphale dirty looks and he smiles kindly at them and puts his arm around Crowley’s waist. They go to the bar and Aziraphale embarrasses Crowley even more by kissing him in front of a handful of his new colleagues. After a couple of beers Crowley decides he doesn’t give a fuck what they think and gets handsy under the table while sitting across from two newly minted police officers. Aziraphale likes this very, <em>very</em> much.</p><p>By the time they tumble through their front door, Beez and Anathema peeling off toward Beez’s room, Aziraphale is barely keeping it together. He tosses his cap onto the dresser and Crowley snatches it back up quickly. “Keep it on.” Aziraphale grins and tugs at his belt as Crowley puts it back on his head.</p><p>Aziraphale holds up a pair of cuffs and presses Crowley up against the bedroom door. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you turn around and put your hands behind your back.” Crowley groans and laughs at the same time.</p><p>“I guess there are a few perks to you being a dirty fucking pig after all.”</p><p>Aziraphale laughs and spins him around.</p><p>-</p><p>
  <em>Now</em>
</p><p>Crowley jams the last bundle of cash into the backpack and zips it quickly. He glances at his watch. The safe was trickier than he imagined. He's behind schedule. Not by much, but enough that he knows Beez is going to ream him once he is out of here. He crosses the room low to the ground, avoids the windows. They are covered, but he doesn't want to risk anything. He's read and re-read all of the Intel on this guy. Even a hunch that Crowley is responsible could send him to an early grave.</p><p>“Beez, how am I looking out there?”</p><p>“You're clear on the east side of the building. Cams show all clear south too. Either exit will work, but south will dump you closer to your vehicle. Move your ass Crowley. Stop dicking around in there. I don't know how much time we've got.”</p><p>“I know, I know. I'm moving now.”</p><p>Just as Crowley reaches for the door to slip through the back halls and out through the kitchen, a rustling sound catches his ear. Up to this point the only sound in the room has been the soft pad of his boots across the concrete floor and his own blood rushing in his head. He stops in his tracks and looks over his shoulder. There. Again. A soft shuffling noise. <em>Fuck. Fuck</em>. Crowley scans the space. The sound is coming from behind a door on the far side of the room. A plain wooden door with a simple swing lock on the outside. He hadn’t given it a second glance. Their floorplans had shown a small coat closet in that corner, but nothing of note.</p><p>As he hesitates, Beez is in his ear. “Eta to exit?”</p><p>“Beez, I think... I think there is someone here.”</p><p>Beez’s voice is clear and stern, but Crowley can detect the slight waver. That tell that Beez is worried. “Get the fuck out. Now. Right the fuck now.”</p><p>A shadow moves under the door and Crowley hears a quiet whimper come from the other side.</p><p>“No... No, I think. I think he's got someone locked up in here.”</p><p>“Not your business. Get out. Get out now.”</p><p>Aziraphale chimes in. He’s in his cruiser on the other side of town. Alibi locked down. He's been sticking to the sidelines. Listening in just in case, but not interrupting. Crowley and Beez work well together and he doesn’t like to impede on their dynamic. He knows he can get too emotional and confuse the situation. But he can't hold back when Crowley is about to put himself in more danger. “AJ, Beez is right. I think you should leave it and get out of there.”</p><p>Crowley hesitates. Turns back toward the exit. He takes one step toward it and the whimper comes again. He freezes. Squeezes his fists tightly and glances back over his shoulder.</p><p>“Fuck!” He hurries across the room and slips the hook out of the little metal eye and pulls the door open slowly. “Oh fuck. Oh fucking.... <em>Fuck</em>!”</p><p>Beez is in his ear immediately. “Crowley what’s going on? Get out of there! Move!”</p><p>Beez is right outside. They are his primary point of contact. They know the job inside and out.  But Crowley can only think to reach out to Aziraphale. He is always the person he turns to in crisis. “Angel, it's a kid. It’s a fucking <em>kid</em>. Oh my God.”</p><p>Tucked in the corner, in the dark closet, is a little girl. She can't be older than four. She has little wild blonde curls that look so much like Aziraphale's that it sparks something deep inside of Crowley. Something instinctive. Primal. Paternal. He knows immediately that he won't leave without her.</p><p>Halfway across the city Aziraphale blanks. He stares at a flashing walk sign in the intersection a half a block away. He doesn't know what to do. He is sure that he has heard wrong. His brain won’t process the implications of what Crowley is saying.</p><p>Beez cuts in. “Crowley you need to move. Now. A truck just pulled up outside. You don't know what's going on. Maybe there is an explanation.”</p><p>Crowley’s voice comes in clear but quiet. “Beez. People don't just lock little girls into closets in empty clubs if they have any good intentions. I am not leaving her here.”</p><p>Aziraphale sucks in a shuddering breath and finally finds his voice. “Oh God, Crowley. Get her out of there. Fucking get her out. Whatever it takes. I'm on my way. Fuck the rest of the plan. I’ll meet you halfway.”</p><p>Beez jumps in. “Fuck no, Aziraphale! They'll be able to track your cruiser. If anyone thinks to check they’ll know you were nearby when this all went down. We can’t risk it.”</p><p>Aziraphale is already cutting into traffic and throwing his lights on. “I'm dumping the cruiser at home. I'll pick up Crowley’s car. Crowley, I’m on my way. Get her <em>out</em>.”</p><p>Crowley kneels in the doorway and smiles at the little girl. She is wearing an oversized t-shirt like a nightgown and she tugs it down over her knees, which are pulled up against her chest. She regards Crowley cautiously.</p><p>“Hey, hi sweetie. Are you hurt? Did anyone hurt you?”</p><p>She shakes her head and he breathes a sigh of relief.</p><p>“Good. Good. My name is AJ. I'm here to help you.” She peeks up through her long blonde eyelashes and blinks at him.  </p><p>Beez is shouting in his ear. They are losing their cool, which is exceedingly rare. “Anthony get the fuck out. They're heading toward the door. Move now. Fucking move.”</p><p>Crowley tunes them out. He reaches his arms out toward her “I'm going to get you out of here. Can you come here sweetheart? I'm going to take you away from the bad men that put you here.”</p><p>He can feel emotion welling up in his throat. A heavy thick lump that he tries desperately to swallow down. “I won't let them hurt you. I promise. Come here baby. Let's get you safe.”</p><p>Beez is still pleading with him. “Crowley move. Move, <em>please</em>. Grab her and fucking run. Get. Out.”</p><p>The girl moves slowly. She stands up and looks down at the floor. Tugs at the t-shirt. Tucks a curl behind her ear. She looks so much like Aziraphale. He is crumbling inside. She takes a single step toward him.</p><p>“That's it. Good girl. We need to go quick.” The girl walks unsteadily toward him. “That's it. Come on. Let's go.” She moves the final couple of feet and wraps her arms around his neck and Crowley is up and moving immediately. Still speaking softly to the little girl, trying to reassure her. As he stands she wraps her legs around his waist and tucks her face against his neck and he can’t help but hold her closer.</p><p>“We have to be quiet. So, so quiet. Can you do that for me?”</p><p>Beez's voice crackles through his ear piece. “You need to exit west. You've got guys coming in on the north and a car on the south side of the building that I can't identify. We can’t risk it.”</p><p>Once he is on his feet Crowley moves fast. He opens the door a crack and peeks out. The hallway is clear. He sucks in a deep breath and steps out of the office. He's run through all of the exits a million times. He knows how many steps to each end of the hallway. He knows where every door and every nook and every corner lies. One foot out the door and there is the sound of footsteps to his right. They are coming in through the kitchen. He shifts and cuts left and in three strides his long legs take him to a utility closet. He backs into the dark dank space and waits. The little girl is silent. Her tiny feet press into his waist. He holds the back of her head and listens. The hallway is quiet. He needs to move before they discover what he's taken. <em>Everything</em> that he’s taken.</p><p>He pictures the layout. The west door is around the corner. Just steps away, really. One foot is out the door when Beez cuts back in. “Abort west. We've got guns incoming. You're going to have to take a chance and go south. Be ready to hit the ground running.”</p><p>Crowley pivots and heads back the way he came. Passes by the office and into an employee restroom. Once inside he shifts the girl to one hip and gets a palm up under the window frame. He pushes and the window creaks open a few inches then sticks. Footsteps echo down the hall and he ducks into a stall. Climbs ups onto the toilet and squats. He prays no one comes in through the door, but he evaluates his options either way. He has a taser on his belt, but he’d have to be close to use it. He doesn’t want to risk the girl. She can probably fit through the window on her own.</p><p>The footsteps get louder and louder then begin to fade. They are moving away again. <em>Oh thank god. </em>He hurries back to the window and struggles to open it. It is awkward with just one free hand the other wrapped around the little girl. He pushes and wrenches and nothing is working. He can hear movement in the hall. He shifts the girl back to the front of his body. “Hold onto me, ok? Hold tight. Don’t let go.” She clings tighter and he reluctantly lets go of her. Finally, with both hands, he manages to open the window enough to fit through.</p><p>It is awkward to climb out the window with the heavy backpack strapped on his back and the little girl in front. He can barely fit through, the window frame rubbing roughly against his scalp as he contorts and wiggles through the narrow space.</p><p>Beez has been updating him intermittently but now Aziraphale's voice rings through. His voice is quiet. Worried. “Crowley, babe, haven't heard anything from you for a minute. Fill us in here... Please...”</p><p>His feet land softly in the grass outside the window and he crouches next to the building.</p><p>“We're out. Southeast corner. Beez, can I go for the car? What are my options here?”</p><p>“Yes, go.” Crowley stands and starts to move. “Wait! Wait! Sorry. Not yet. <em>Fuck</em> we had a blind spot. Holy fuck I'm ... Shit. When I say go, go.”</p><p>Crowley kneels back to the ground. He brushes the cotton candy curls away from his face and the little girl looks up to him.  “We're going to go on a little adventure, ok? We're going to run really fast and then we're going to go in a race car. Does that sound fun?”</p><p>She nods. Her little pale fingers pick at his collar. He is struck suddenly that she must be cold. The summer heat is beginning to wane and the first hint of fall is on the air. He wraps a warm hand around one cold foot. Rubs her back. He wants to wrap her up. Wishes he had on a coat or an extra shirt.</p><p>“Hold on real real tight. And if you hear any scary noises just close your eyes, ok? I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”</p><p>“Go now.” Crowley breaks into a sprint.  </p><p>-</p><p>Aziraphale screeches to a stop outside of their building and races toward Crowley’s parking spot. His boots skid on the sidewalk. “Fuck!” He spins and heads back toward the building, takes the stairs three at a time and snatches the keys from the little table next to the front door before running back down them.</p><p>Two minutes later he is flying across the city again. His driving rivaling Crowley’s. He hits the clutch and shifts into fifth. “Beez we need a switch point. Crowley needs to dump that car. We don't have time to drop it back wherever he found it. And Beez, I'm sorry, but we need Anathema.”</p><p>Beez sighs heavily in his ear. “I know... I know. Already messaged her. I'm sending a location to your phones. You should have good cover under the tracks there to dump the car and pick up Crowley. No cameras. Foot traffic should be minimal, but be smart about it. Crowley, any tails?”</p><p>“I haven't seen anyone. I'll run some evasive routes though, just in case. Angel, I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”</p><p>Beez crackles back in. “I'll meet you guys at my place. Anathema will be ready when we come in the door. “</p><p>-</p><p>When Aziraphale pulls up to the designated drop location Crowley is already there. He climbs out of the driver's seat, and Aziraphale's breath hitches. The girl is so small. Her bare feet are pink. He watches as they swing at Crowley's hips. Her arms are folded up between her tiny body and Crowley's chest. He dips back into the car, balancing her carefully and grabs the dark canvas backpack then hurries toward the passenger side door of the Supra.</p><p>As he folds into the car next to Aziraphale she tilts her face up close to Crowley and whispers into his ear. Her big hazel eyes, though, are fixed firmly on Aziraphale.</p><p>Crowley leans closer. “Hmm?” he smiles. “Yeah, yeah this is the angel I was telling you about.”</p><p>She whispers again, eyes wide and he chuckles. Wipes some snot from under her nose with his thumb. “Yeah, his wings are just hidden right now.”</p><p>Aziraphale can only stare back at her. His eyes are brimming. Lips parted. “Oh… oh my God. Crowley… She’s…”</p><p>She tucks her chin and snuggles into Crowley's chest again and he runs his fingers through her tangled hair. “Angel, this is Fern. She is three and a half years old. She likes kitties and froggies, isn't that right? Do you want to say hi?” She turns her face away, shy.</p><p>Crowley looks up at Aziraphale and his lip trembles but he smiles all the same.  </p><p>Aziraphale blinks back his own tears. His voice quivers. “Hi Fern. It's so nice to meet you. My name is Aziraphale. Let's get you somewhere safe.”</p><p>The whole way to Beez's place Fern sneaks peeks at Aziraphale. He catches her a time or two and flashes her a smile. Each time she smiles back but then quickly buries her face in Crowley's shirt again. And each time, without realizing it, he squeezes her a little tighter. A little closer. He sighs, eyes closed, and rests his chin among her curls and Aziraphale’s heart flutters in a way it never has before.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've been dying to get to this chapter...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Who doesn't love a soft Crowley? </p>
<p>Content warning for references to child abuse, non-explicit.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anathema pulls the door open and ushers them inside before they can even knock. She is checking over each of them in turn. “Is anyone hurt? Did they hurt her?” She reaches out and rubs the girls back gently, already checking her for injuries.</p>
<p>Crowley shifts her onto the other hip so she is facing Anathema. “I don't think she's hurt, but I haven't gotten a good look at her yet.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale runs his hand down Crowley's back. “She's been pretty attached to Crowley.”</p>
<p>Anathema tucks her hair behind her ear and leans down to look into her face. “Hi sweetie. What's your name?”</p>
<p>She looks up to Crowley who smiles softly at her. “It's ok. This is Anathema. She's a doctor. She's going to get you cleaned up and look for any owies. Can you tell her your name?”</p>
<p>She peeks at Aziraphale then back at Anathema before answering. Her voice is soft. “Fern.”</p>
<p>“Hi Fern!” Anathema smiles brightly at her. “How would you feel about having a nice warm bath? Would that be ok? Get you cleaned up and put some new jammies on and then we can get you something to eat?”</p>
<p>She stares at Anathema, scrunches a little closer to Crowley.</p>
<p>“We can get you a happy meal after.” Fern brightens immediately, grinning widely, and nodding. She looks up at Crowley excitedly. Aziraphale watches with a strange combination of fondness and heartbreak as Crowley’s eyes well up with tears at her beaming smile.</p>
<p>“Ok, why don't we let AJ have a little rest and we'll go have some girl time.” She reaches out for Fern and for a moment Crowley tenses and holds her closer. Some instinctive desire to hold on to her.</p>
<p>Aziraphale rubs his back again. “It's ok babe. She’s safe now. You've got to let go.” He releases his grip on her and she puts her little hands out toward Anathema who whisks her away, chattering the whole time.</p>
<p>As soon as he hears the bath running, he folds at his waist and sinks down to the floor, face in his hands. Aziraphale is there at once, kneeling next to him and brushing the stray hairs that have fallen out of his hair tie back and away from his face.</p>
<p>“Who does that? What kind of monster can lock a little girl into a closet like that? All by herself in the dark. She must have been fucking terrified!” Aziraphale wraps him up in his arms and kisses his temple.</p>
<p>“I know. But she’s safe. You saved her, Crowley. She’s safe now.”</p>
<p>“They were going to…”</p>
<p>Aziraphale shushes him. “I know. I know. Don’t think about it right now. Come on, let’s get up off the floor.” He pulls Crowley up onto the couch and takes his face in his hands. “You were a goddamn hero today, Anthony. A hero. You saved her. You saved that little girl’s life. You’re amazing, you know that right?” When he pulls his hands away there is blood on the fingertips of his right hand. “AJ, you’re bleeding.” He parts Crowley’s hair and leans in for a closer look.</p>
<p>Crowley puts his fingertips to his scalp and winces. “Must have bumped it getting out. We had to climb through a window…”</p>
<p>“Anathema can patch you up when she’s finished. I’m going to run across the street and grab you some fresh clothes. Feed Eve. You ok here? I’ll be right back.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. Thanks Angel.”</p>
<p>Twenty minutes later Aziraphale is balling up Crowley’s dirty clothes and Beez is walking through the door with several bags of McDonald's.</p>
<p>The bathroom door opens and Fern runs across the apartment straight to Crowley, smacking into the couch between his knees and throwing her arms around his waist.</p>
<p>He brightens immediately, grinning down at her. “Hey baby girl! How was your bath?”</p>
<p>Anathema leans against the doorframe and smiles. Beez crosses the room and stands on tip toe to give her a quick kiss. Anathema looks to Crowley. “She wanted you to comb her hair. Wouldn't let me touch it after we got it washed.” She crosses the room and tosses him a wide toothed comb.</p>
<p>“Ok, ok. Up we go.” He lifts her up and sets her onto the couch between his knees and starts working the comb through her damp hair carefully. He is terrified of hurting her. She feels so fragile. So delicate. She is tougher than she looks, but Crowley doesn’t know that yet.</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiles at her. “He's a pro at combing hair. That’s why his is so pretty.” Fern gazes up at Crowley and reaches out to touch a loose curl.</p>
<p>Aziraphale peeks at her shirt and snickers. “Dead Kennedy’s? Really?”</p>
<p>Anathema shrugs. “It was the first thing I grabbed from Beez's dresser.” She laughs. “Beez is closest to her size. She needed something new. Her clothes were filthy.”</p>
<p>Crowley puts his hands over her ears and whispers. “Fucking <em>monsters</em>. Was everything... You know. Ok? Did they...” He can’t finish the sentence. Aziraphale reaches out and squeezes his knee.</p>
<p>“No sign of injury. I obviously didn't do like... a pelvic exam, but I didn't see anything during her bath. No bruising or tearing or anything.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale blanches. “Jesus...”</p>
<p>Anathema frowns. “She'd uh, well she must have been in there for a bit. Because she asked to use the toilet. She's potty trained. But she had...” Anathema hesitates.  Crowley picks up the subtext and covers her ears again. “She'd soiled herself. Must have sat in it for a while. Has a bit of a rash.” Crowley shakes his head and clenches his jaw. Aziraphale knows the look. He knows that in different company he would have several very terse words for the situation. Would probably be halfway out the door to ruin some people. Anathema continues. “Speaking of, we're going to need some things. Cream, a couple changes of clothes, maybe some real jammies, underpants, toothbrush, that sort of thing. I'll make a list. Aziraphale, if you could run to Target or something?</p>
<p>“Of course. No problem.”</p>
<p>“Maybe some toys too. Coloring books, things like that.”</p>
<p>Beez sets a happy meal down on the coffee table and Fern pops up from between Crowley’s knees excitedly. Crowley scoots down onto the floor with her and helps her open her chicken nuggets. “Can you tell Beez thank you?”</p>
<p>She doesn’t look up, but she does thank Beez, who smiles down at her. Aziraphale joins them on the floor and digs out a handful of little plastic tubs from the bag. ”Which sauce do you like?”</p>
<p>She points out one with a green foil top.  “Ooh that is my favorite too. Here let me help you open it.”</p>
<p>Beez tosses a bag onto their workstation and an array of several monitors blink to life.</p>
<p>“We've got no match for local missing persons. I'm running a national search, but I'm not seeing anyone that matches Fern’s details when I do a quick manual scan. Plus, little blonde girls usually get lots of press. We would probably already know.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale is ripping open the happy meal toy for Fern and she grins up at him with sweet and sour sauce on her chin. Crowley wipes at her with a napkin.</p>
<p>Anathema lowers her voice as she cuts in. “I asked her and she said she didn't have a mommy or daddy.  My guess is she is in the foster system.” Crowley and Aziraphale frown simultaneously. Sneak a glance at one another.</p>
<p>“Good call. I'll run that search too. Although it might take time. They don't exactly have a physical description listed like with Namus.” Beez immerses themselves in their search and Anathema tosses Aziraphale a cheeseburger that he wolfs down before grabbing the car keys and heading out the door.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Aziraphale pushes the door open with his foot and shuffles in sideways.</p>
<p>“I think I may have gone a bit overboard.” He has eight overflowing shopping bags draped over his arms. “Have you seen kid’s clothes lately? Oh my God they are so cute. I... I couldn't stop grabbing things! And these tiny shoes and socks... I'm telling you, Crowley. You're going to die.” Anathema greets him at the door and shushes him while grabbing some of the bags. He scrunches his face at her and she nods over her shoulder. He glances into the living room and looks back at Anathema with his mouth agape and eyebrows squeezed together.</p>
<p>“Oh my <em>god</em>…” Crowley and Fern are both asleep on the couch. She is tucked up tightly against his chest and he has both arms wrapped around her, his knees folded up beneath her. “That might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my fucking life.”</p>
<p>Anathema grins and sets the bags out on the living room floor quietly. Aziraphale follows, never taking his eyes off of Fern and Crowley. He sets his bags down and kneels next to the couch. There is a laptop open on the coffee table, a cartoon playing quietly on the screen. Anathema begins unloading the bags. “Are kids in the plans for you two?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale shakes his head. “We’ve never really talked about it. Never felt like a possibility, you know? But I mean…” He gestures to the scene in front of him and lets his hands fall back to his sides. “How can it not be? Look at that.” He runs his fingers through Crowley’s hair and he stirs. He doesn’t wake up, just tucks his face closer to the little girl’s head. Aziraphale can picture it all vividly, all of a sudden. Something normal. Something domestic. A family that isn’t broken. Their love expanding beyond the confines of one another. Aziraphale drapes a blanket over them and returns to Anathema’s side, awestruck at the possibility.  </p>
<p>“You should stay here tonight. You can sleep in your old bedroom. We’ll figure things out in the morning.” She gestures to Beez who is sitting cross legged at their desk with giant headphones tugged down tight over their ears. “Namus came up empty. We’re still searching foster records. Apparently there is a lot of commotion at that club, so Beez is listening in there too. No Gabriel yet, but I guess there has been a phone call or two.”</p>
<p>“Anathema, I’m so sorry to drag you into all this. I know Beez really doesn’t want you touching any of it. We just… obviously things went unexpectedly today.”</p>
<p>“It’s ok. Now that she’s involved, there is no way I couldn’t be involved too. Not when they might have…” she trails off. Furrows her brow. “We might need to make some tough decisions depending on what we find out about Fern.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale nods.</p>
<p>“There might be people out there worried about her. Looking for her. And AJ is going to have to trust them and let her go.”</p>
<p>“It’s going to break his heart.” Anathema nods. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Eventually Crowley sits up, yawning. He tucks the blanket tight around Ferns shoulders and she curls up against the cushions. Aziraphale and Anathema are sorting through Aziraphale’s bounty. Unboxing toys and clipping tags off of clothes and piling up all of the healthy little snacks. As Crowley kneels next to them he picks up the tiny pair of shoes and stares at them. “Oh my god these are too much.” He clutches them to his chest. “Too fucking much. I… I can’t…”</p>
<p>“Wait util you see the socks.” Aziraphale holds up a tiny pair of yellow socks with pink polka dots and Crowley’s face just about melts off of his body. “I even found a shirt with frogs on it. You said she likes frogs.”</p>
<p>“Oh my god I love you so much.” He picks up a stuffed sloth and stares at it.</p>
<p>Behind him Beez starts snapping their fingers. “I found her. Oh my god I found her. What the… what the actual fuck?” They are all on their feet and crowd around Beez’s chair. “Anathema was right. Kind of. She <em>was</em> in the foster system until two days ago. When she was marked as deceased. What the….”</p>
<p>Crowley’s eyes go wide. “Deceased? What..?”</p>
<p>“No living family members. I guess they picked her up a couple years ago after her mom OD’ed in some flop house on the south side. She had left Fern at her apartment and a neighbor tipped off police.” Beez scrolls through the file. “Oh fuck… Any guesses on the responding officer?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale has to sit down. “Oh god… Oh god I think I’m going to be sick.”</p>
<p>Crowley is raging immediately. But quietly so he doesn’t wake Fern. “Did he... did he ever..? I swear to god you should have let me kill that motherfucker.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale is shaking his head, “No… no nothing like that. But… To think he is capable of… Jesus fucking Christ.” He rubs his hands over his face. “Who was her latest foster family? Who marked her file as deceased?”</p>
<p>“Looks like they moved her to a new foster family a little under a week ago. I’d be willing to bet they don’t actually exist. Or if they do they are on his payroll. File says accidental death. No details. Nothing. As far as the state knows, Fern doesn’t exist. He erased her and sold her or gave her away. Like she isn’t a human being.”</p>
<p>There are tears falling over Aziraphale’s cheeks. “How many times has he done this? How many… how many kids… Crowley’s right. I should have let him… How many kids did I doom? How many people are suffering now because of me?” Anathema and Crowley both reach for him.</p>
<p>Crowley gets there first. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” Aziraphale’s entire body is shaking.</p>
<p>Anathema squeezes his shoulder. “Because of you, this motherfucker and his entire network is going down. How many people are you <em>saving</em>? Ask yourself that.”</p>
<p>He turns over his shoulder to gaze at Fern. “What… what happens to Fern then? She can’t go back into foster care, obviously. If we tell people she isn’t dead then she’s on their radar. She’ll be at risk.”</p>
<p>Beez turns toward the slumbering girl. “We’ll give her a new identity.” They look at Aziraphale. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”</p>
<p>Anathema walks toward the kitchen. “We’ll figure it out in the morning. Until then, who else needs a fucking beer?”</p>
<p>At the end of the night Crowley carries Fern into their old bedroom and tucks her in in between himself and Aziraphale, who watches his every move with his heart fluttering wildly in his chest. He didn’t know that he would find new ways to love Crowley after so much time together, but life constantly manages to surprise him. They hold hands above Fern’s head and the three of them fall asleep cuddled up safely together.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Crowley rouses slowly. It takes a minute for him to remember why he isn’t in his own apartment. He rolls over and the bed is empty. A twinge of panic shudders up through his belly and he sits up quickly before tamping it down. There is no reason he should be panicking, but something about losing sight of Fern makes him feel tense. Worried. When he gets to the living room he has to hold himself upright on the arm of the couch. Aziraphale is scooting around the living room on all fours, Fern draped over his back giggling. She has her arms locked around his neck and every once in a while, he rears up on his knees making her screech with joy. Tracy is there, sitting on the floor and laughing with them. The room smells like cinnamon. Anathema and Beez lean against the kitchen island, arms draped loosely around each other as they smile at the scene unfolding in front of them. His whole life. All of the most important people he knows, together. Here. And now plus one. He is practically knocked backward with the overwhelming sense of love in the room.</p>
<p>Fern spots him first. She screeches and hops off of Aziraphale’s back and runs across the room.</p>
<p>“Papa!” He scoops her up and tosses her into the air before he even registers what she’s just said. When it sinks in he stares wide eyed at Aziraphale who stares back with the same expression. His eyes dart to Anathema who is looking at Beez and mouthing “what the fuck?” as Fern wraps her arms around his neck and nuzzles close. Tracy just laughs louder, head thrown back.</p>
<p>“Oh baby, she has you pegged. Clever little thing. No way you can toss her aside now. She sure knew the sucker out of this group didn’t she?”</p>
<p>Crowley looks at Tracy offended. “I am <em>not</em> a sucker.” He runs his fingers through her hair. Smiles at her.</p>
<p>“Tell me then, how many nights has that stray cat spent in your bed instead of out on the street?”</p>
<p>Crowley opens his mouth to say something then clamps it shut again.</p>
<p>“And how often to you give into the whims of this little exhibitionist.” She gestures toward Aziraphale.</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughs, “Hey now, not in front of the kid. And Crowley, what have you been telling Tracy when I’m not around?” Crowley winks at him and sets Fern down. She runs back to Aziraphale, hopping onto his back again. He tucks his arms under her legs and stands. “Let’s go check those cinnamon rolls, yeah?”</p>
<p>“Look, I was just… I was the one that pulled her out of that place. She’s just imprinting on me. Like a duck.”</p>
<p>Tracy laughs. “From what I’ve heard, I’m not sure that she is the duck in this situation. <em>Papa</em>.”</p>
<p>Crowley blushes and runs his hand through his hair. “Look… I’m just as surprised by this whole thing as anybody else.” As Aziraphale, Fern giggling on his back, passes by him, Crowley reaches out and grabs his arm and whispers to him. “I just want you to know, that I’ve never been more attracted to you in my entire life. I don’t… I can’t even…” Aziraphale barks out a laugh and continues on to the kitchen where Anathema peels the oven door open and lets Fern peek inside.</p>
<p>Over strong coffee and gooey cinnamon rolls, that Fern helped Aziraphale ice, they discuss their options.</p>
<p>Crowley’s position is obvious to everyone before they even get started. “Look, I just think Aziraphale and I should take care of her for now. We’ve got a good thing going. Obviously she likes us.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale frowns. “Crowley, you know I’d be fine with that in other circumstances, but things are really complicated right now. If she stays with us we’re putting her at risk. You know it would kill you if anything were to happen to her. Especially on your watch.”</p>
<p>Tracy pipes up. “She’s welcome to stay with me for a bit, but I can’t keep her permanently, I’m getting too old to keep up with a toddler.”</p>
<p>Beez cuts in. “She can stay here.” Everyone at the table turns to look at them. “What? I work from home. I can take care of a kid. I have four younger siblings, you know? I practically raised them. And Anathema is great with kids. She practices family medicine for Christ’s sake.”</p>
<p>Anathema take’s Beez’s hand and cuts in. “We talked about it last night after everyone went to bed. I really think this is the best choice. She can stay here with us, we’ll get her a new last name, new social. I’ll set up a medical history at the clinic. And she’ll be right across the street, so you guys can come over to see her any time.” Fern unravels her cinnamon bun and holds it up to show Crowley, eyes wide. “Things are stable here and Beez isn’t directly involved in… everything. Less risk, but we still keep her in the fold, you know?”</p>
<p>Crowley ruffles Fern’s hair and smiles sadly. “Yeah… yeah I guess you’re right.”</p>
<p>After breakfast Beez walks Aziraphale and Crowley through their surveillance. In the commotion of the day before Crowley had nearly forgotten that he’d gotten a bug planted under the lip of the desk before he tackled the safe. “So he called Gabriel. Pissed. Obviously. But he was careful. No details over the phone. Gabriel is supposed to be coming in today. I think we might be able to move up our timeline. We were planning on dropping the info with Adam in January, but I think we can do it as soon as next month. With Fern in the mix, now, I think it is best to go sooner rather than later. We might miss a couple of connections, but I’m certain good ol’ Gabe will throw everyone under the bus to try to save himself.”</p>
<p>“And what about the cash from yesterday?”</p>
<p>“He won’t go through official police channels, so no one is looking for it. Way I see it, we’ve got two options. Donate it, or, and I’ll come right out and say that I prefer this option, set Fern up for life using the money we stole from that son of a bitch. It’s cash, so we can’t deposit it all at once without drawing attention, but we can move some of our existing money around and make a series of smaller deposits. Invest it. By the time she’s an adult she’ll be set.”</p>
<p>Fern, having heard her name, looks up from her coloring book and smiles. Crowley smiles back. “Yeah… yeah I like that idea.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Crowley and Aziraphale are watching a cartoon with Fern when Beez whips around in their chair and gestures toward their headphones frantically. “He’s there. He just got there.” The little girl pouts as they both jump up off the couch and scramble toward the desk. Beez takes the headphones off and unplugs them. “Put these on her, I don’t want her to hear them.”</p>
<p>Anathema snatches the headphones and plugs them into the laptop. “Here you go sweetie, let’s put these on for a few minutes.” She frowns and her little lip juts out in a pout. “If you keep these on for me I’ll share some candy.”</p>
<p>She sighs and rolls her eyes like a teenager and Crowley can’t help but laugh as she mumbles, “Fine.”</p>
<p>Anathema pops them onto her head and turns back to the monitors with a sigh. “Three going on thirteen, jeez.”</p>
<p>They listen in as the man goes on a tirade. They can hear Gabriel trying to cut in from time to time but he doesn’t get many words in before the man shuts him up again. He is suspicious. He pays well for police protection and now they’ve been ripped off. He assumes it is the competition trying to send a message. When they start to talk about Fern, Crowley fists his hands so tightly he breaks the skin of his palms with his fingernails in several places. They discuss her like any other business transaction. More stolen merchandise. The man is angry because she was going to be used to butter up a new business associate with a predilection for little girls. Gabriel promises to provide him with a replacement and Aziraphale has to leave the room. The cinnamon rolls turning over in his stomach. The man refers to him as both Gabriel and Detective O’Connor in the exchange and Beez claps excitedly. “Got you motherfucker. Got you!”</p>
<p>Aziraphale leans back into the room as the exchange appears to be coming to an end.</p>
<p>The man demands that Gabriel figure out who ripped him off. “You can run him through the system.” Everyone in the room freezes, staring at the sound coming out of the speakers like it is a tangible thing. “Left blood in my bathroom.” Crowley’s eyes go wide and his hand flies to his scalp. “Figure it out Gabriel. Or you’re finished. You hear me?”</p>
<p>Crowley looks at Aziraphale, “Oh fuck. Oh <em>fuck</em>. I… I forgot. I didn’t even think about…” Aziraphale is pacing around the room. “Angel, I didn’t even…”</p>
<p>Aziraphale cuts him off, “Let me think!” Crowley winces but he knows that Aziraphale is just worried. Aziraphale continues to pace, hands in his hair. “Fuck!”</p>
<p>He spins to pace the opposite direction and runs straight into Fern. She looks up at him, eyes wide and lip trembling. “Is Papa in trouble?”</p>
<p>His face softens immediately, his body loosens. He kneels down to her level. “Oh, peanut, no. No, Papa's not in trouble.”</p>
<p>Behind him Crowley's hand flies to his chest. His knees squeeze together and he bends slightly there and at his waist. He looks at Anathema. Mouths 'peanut' and presses his lips together tightly. He feels like his heart is melting right out of his chest and puddling at his feet. Anathema grins at him.</p>
<p>Fern clasps her fingers together and looks at her feet. “Am I in trouble?”</p>
<p>His face drops, “Oh baby, no. No one is in trouble. Come here.” He pulls her into a hug, their blonde curls twisting up and melding together. Crowley, impossibly, melts even more. He has to grasp Anathema’s arm. “You know what, let’s get out of here. Get some fresh air. Why don't we go for a walk? See if we can't find a playground. What do you think?” He looks up at Crowley and smiles. “Papa'll push you on the swing.” She grins up at him, then at Crowley, and nods.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Fern screeches as Crowley pushes the swing higher and higher. She is babbling about God only knows what. Crowley and Aziraphale only catch pieces of the one-sided conversation every time she swings back toward them. When Aziraphale talks his voice is low and quiet. “You aren’t on file anywhere, but we both know you have family in the police database. They could match you, or at least get close enough. It’s no secret that we’re married. If they sniff you out they are going to put the pieces together real quick. I’m going to have to either contaminate the sample somehow, steal it, swap it, or alter the results.”</p>
<p>“What is the safest option?”</p>
<p>“Well, I can only alter the results from in the network, and I don’t have Beez’s skills. I don’t think I can do it quickly or cleanly enough that it wouldn’t be traced back to me. Even if Beez was walking me through it. With contamination, we only guarantee that a court wouldn’t be able to convict you. That doesn’t stop someone else from implementing their own justice. This isn’t going to court anyway, you know? If we steal it, he is going to know for sure that there is someone in the department that is on to him. I know he suspects it, but he doesn’t have confirmation yet. I have a suspicion he thinks he knows who the whistleblower was that talked to Solomon. I worry that he will go after them if he thinks they put him in this situation. And I can’t stand the thought of getting someone else hurt. I can’t do it.”</p>
<p>“So we swap it?”</p>
<p>“I think we swap it, yeah.”</p>
<p>“With what?”</p>
<p>“That’s what we need to decide. I have an idea, but I don’t think you are going to like it very much.”</p>
<p>Crowley glares, “If you say with your own blood, I’m going to divorce you.”</p>
<p>“I want him to know. I want him to know that it is me.”</p>
<p>“No way. Absolutely not. Aziraphale, he will come after you.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale turns to Crowley. “Let him.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I think we need to sleep in our own bed tonight.”</p>
<p>Crowley frowns. Fern is napping, head resting on his lap. “We could just stay here one more night.”</p>
<p>“Crowley, the longer we stay, the harder it is going to be to leave her here. We need her to know that we can leave and come back. That we aren’t abandoning her.”</p>
<p>He tugs the blanket up around her and tucks it in at her sides. “She could spend the night with us.”</p>
<p>“AJ…”</p>
<p>“She’d love Eve.”</p>
<p>“She’ll meet Eve soon enough. She needs to know that this is her home now. With Beez and Anathema.” Crowley chews at the inside of his cheek and nods.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>In the evening Crowley hugs Fern for a long time, whispering promises into her ear. Wishing that she understood why they have to go. Her lip trembles and tears spill down her cheeks as he steps out the door and he feels like all of the air is rushing out of his lungs and he is being crushed from the inside. As the door swings shut he can hear her sobbing on the other side as Anathema tries to console her and explain that he’ll be back tomorrow. He puts both palms on the door and waits. Listens. Shakes. But it is only when Aziraphale drags him away that he lets his own tears fall.</p>
<p>In their own bedroom Aziraphale kisses his tear-stained cheeks and holds him. Crowley tilts his face up and catches Aziraphale’s mouth with his own. Softly first, then more and more desperately. His hands scramble to pull Aziraphale closer, then move quickly for the hem of Aziraphale’s t-shirt, pushing it up over his ribcage then over his head. They skirt over his shoulders and his jaw and down his ribs, as if Crowley can’t figure out where to put them. Aziraphale takes them with his own and holds them between their chests. Pulls away and lets Crowley catch his breath.</p>
<p>“Crowley…”</p>
<p>“Shut up.” He drags Aziraphale to their bed and pushes him down into the soft mattress. In seconds he has his belt undone and is slipping it out of the loops of his jeans. He folds it in half and puts it into Aziraphale’s hand, then stands up and begins undressing himself the rest of the way.</p>
<p>“Crowley.”</p>
<p>“I said shut up.”</p>
<p>“Baby, you know I’m happy to indulge you, but… I don’t know if you’re in the right place for this tonight.”</p>
<p>Crowley is already climbing into bed next to him and lying face down, he turns his face away. “Please, Angel. <em>Please</em>.” His voice breaks, but only barely enough for Aziraphale to hear. He buries his face in the tangle of their sheets to try to hide it.</p>
<p>Aziraphale sighs and puts the belt down. “AJ, I’m not going to hurt you tonight. Not for the wrong reasons.” He rolls Crowley over onto his back and Crowley puts his arm up over his eyes. His mouth is turned down.</p>
<p>“I need it.”</p>
<p>“You don’t <em>need</em> it. Talk to me. What’s going on?”</p>
<p>“I’ve got… I’ve got too much…” He waves his hand over his chest. “It’s too much.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale lays down beside him and tugs him up next to his body. “What’s too much?”</p>
<p>Crowley takes a deep shuddering breath. “I shouldn’t… I didn’t think…” he pulls his arm away from his face and looks at Aziraphale with red rimmed eyes. “How quickly can you start to love someone?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiles, “Oh Anthony.” He brushes a tear from the corner of Crowley’s eye. “Is that what you’re worried about? It’s ok to love her. You’re allowed to love her.”</p>
<p>“But it <em>hurts</em> too. Why does it hurt so much?”</p>
<p>“Because that’s how love is sometimes.”</p>
<p>“Do you think she's ok? Is she going to be ok tonight?”</p>
<p>“Of course she is. She might be a little sad. But she’s tough. She’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>“Can we take her out for breakfast tomorrow?”</p>
<p>“How about lunch? Let’s let her settle in with Beez and Anathema for a little bit. She needs to get used to things.”</p>
<p>“Angel?”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>“We’re going to need to hide our weed better.” Aziraphale bursts out into laughter and flops onto his back, bringing Crowley along with him so that he is propped up on his chest.</p>
<p>“We’re going to need to hide a lot of things better.” Crowley leans down and kisses him. As he goes to pull away Aziraphale leans up, gets a hand on the back of Crowley’s head and pulls him back down. He relaxes under Aziraphale’s hands. Lets him lead. Lets him roll them back over so Crowley is on his back and then lets him trail his mouth down his chin and throat. Aziraphale looks up from where he is kissing his sternum. “I won’t hurt you tonight, but if you’d like, I’d like to make you feel good.”</p>
<p>Crowley nods, “Yeah. Yeah, ok.”</p>
<p>He kisses across Crowley’s chest. Takes his time to suck at his nipples until they harden into tight little buds. As he sinks lower he looks up again. “I meant what I said yesterday. You’re amazing. I didn’t know I could <em>be</em> more in love with you, but I’m falling deeper and deeper every time I see you with her.”</p>
<p>Crowley blinks rapidly a few times, then chuckles. “Oh god, you’re going to make me cry again.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughs and kisses his stomach. “What can I say? I guess I have a thing for dads.”</p>
<p>He snorts. “I’m hardly her dad.”</p>
<p>“Whatever you say.” He grins up at Crowley, “Papa.” Crowley nudges him with his knee and rolls his eyes, but he is smiling. Beaming even. Aziraphale’s heart flutters again. He’s going to have to see a cardiologist if Crowley keeps this up. He trails his mouth down Crowley’s stomach. Nips gently at that soft expanse then places a line of kisses down his thigh all the way to his knee before coming back up and doing the same to the other leg. Crowley begins to relax. First his shoulders slip down away from his ears and sink into the mattress. Then he rolls his head from side to side, the muscles of his neck loosening. He takes a slow, deep breath and his hips release. Aziraphale runs his hands up the outside of his thighs and hums. “There you go. That’s better.” His hands stroke across Crowley’s stomach. Linger there to feel the rise and fall of his breath. Slow and steady and calm.</p>
<p>Crowley closes his eyes and crosses his arms at the wrists above his head as Aziraphale’s hand moves down and wraps around his cock. His hips twitch up as Aziraphale tightens his fingers and begins to stroke him slowly. His other hand dips low, a finger stroking between his cheeks and Crowley pops an eye open to grab the lube from the nightstand and toss it his direction. Aziraphale sits up on his heels and slicks his fingers before settling back down on his belly and taking Crowley into his mouth.</p>
<p>His back arches up off the bed as Aziraphale swirls his tongue around him. “Oh Angel…” His fingers tease at his entrance, pressing but not pushing in. Not yet. Crowley shifts his hips, impatient, and Aziraphale pulls back just until Crowley begins to whine above him. He presses in slowly, finger pressed up against his prostate the entire time. He watches as Crowley’s ribcage expands and contracts faster. His eyebrows pull up and together. His fingers crawl up until they can creep under the bottom edge of the headboard and grip there. Aziraphale matches the speed of his hand and mouth, working Crowley slowly. He wants to draw this out. Enjoy it. For once, Crowley doesn’t push. Doesn’t try to speed things along. He rocks his hips at Aziraphale’s speed, breath shaking out of his lungs and past his lips.</p>
<p>As Aziraphale adds a second finger alongside the first Crowley lets out a high-pitched groan. His hips twitch up. Aziraphale runs the flat of his tongue over the tip of Crowley’s cock, lapping up the milky bead that leaks out. His thighs quiver steadily next to Aziraphale’s face as he rubs against his prostate over and over. He brings Crowley right up to the very edge of the precipice, breath ragged and back arching and sweat pearling on his chest and then pulls away. Crowley’s entire body collapses back onto the bed with a whimper. He laughs, “Such a bastard.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiles as he tugs his jeans over his hips and kicks them onto the floor. He crawls back up Crowley’s body and kisses him. Tongue gliding over his lips and into his mouth. Crowley kisses back greedily, hands tangling up in Aziraphale’s hair. As they kiss Aziraphale sinks into him slowly. Revels in the heat of his body. Crowley gasps into his mouth and wraps his legs around his waist.</p>
<p>They move slowly together. With their mouths and their hips and their hands. Aziraphale doesn’t want to rush things. He wants to preserve this moment. Bottle it up as a reminder of the day that their love outgrew them. And how they shifted to accommodate it and came out the other side better for it. He runs a hand over Crowley’s jaw and kisses his throat. “I love you. I love you so fucking much.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s hands slip out of Aziraphale’s hair and grasp at his shoulder blades. His eyes roll up and flutter closed as he nods at Aziraphale’s words. His mouth moves. Makes the shapes of the words back, but all that comes out are little gasps and moans as Aziraphale thrusts into him slowly.</p>
<p>Aziraphale slips his hand between their heaving bodies and wraps his fingers firmly around Crowley again. His mouth drops open and his head falls backward as he groans loudly. Aziraphale’s knuckles brush against his belly with every stroke. He watches Crowley slowly fall apart like he’s done time and time again. Watches as a flush spreads out from his throat and paints his chest. His nipples wrinkle and contract again. His entire body tenses, fingernails digging into Aziraphale’s back. He is close. But it is Aziraphale that comes first. His orgasm crashes over him unexpectedly, his body curling forward, forehead coming to rest on Crowley’s chest. His lips brush against Crowley’s chest hair as he cries out. A string of curses and declarations of love all mixed up among one another. He feels heat spreading out across his chest and all the way up onto his neck and chin as Crowley comes too, shuddering underneath him. His heels dig into Aziraphale’s back as he pulls him deeper inside of him. Aziraphale’s muscles twitch and spasm as Crowley clenches and unclenches around him in time with his pulsing cock.</p>
<p>“Oh <em>god</em>, Angel. Shit.” They stay tangled up for several breaths. Eventually Aziraphale pulls out slowly and rolls onto his back. They lie side by side staring up at the ceiling, chests still heaving. Crowley reaches up and wipes the sweat from his brow. He presses himself up and sits up against the headboard. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale looks up at him and scrunches his brow in confusion but also amusement. “You’re welcome?”</p>
<p>“I mean for, you know. Not whipping me with my own belt. I mean, not tonight, at least. But definitely later when I’m less… you know. Emotional.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>In the morning when Aziraphale walks into the living room Crowley is standing in front of their balcony doors with a pad of purple post it notes. He peels sheet after sheet off of the pad and sticks them onto the glass. Aziraphale watches quietly as Crowley steps back and tosses what little is left of the pad onto the couch behind him. He crosses his arms and admires his work then turns around. Jumps. “Oh god! Aziraphale, I didn’t realize you were awake.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale crosses the room and stands next to Crowley. “You are adorable. You know that right? This is ridiculously adorable.”</p>
<p>“I just thought, you know, if she sees this, she’ll know we’re still thinking about her. That we’re still here.” Aziraphale puts his arm around Crowley and smiles. He has covered the doors in giant pixelated hearts. In the center of one door he has spelled out her name. Across the street the balcony door slides open and Beez steps outside, holding Fern’s hand. Crowley hurries to the door and yanks it open, grinning and waving and shouting across the street to her. Aziraphale watches them for a moment. And there he goes. Tumbling a little bit deeper into love with every passing second.    </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Then</em>
</p>
<p>Beez crosses their arms and looks around the empty apartment. “Seems nice enough. Are you sure you want to live <em>right</em> across the street though? I mean. I can see right into our place from here.”</p>
<p>Crowley drapes an arm over their shoulder. “That’s the whole point, Beez. No running halfway across the city just to work on shit. We can keep an eye on each other this way. Plus, how could you possibly go on living without seeing this beautiful face every morning.”</p>
<p>They roll their eyes. “I guess it’s nice enough. For the rent at least. I’m honestly surprised it hasn’t rented yet.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s voice echoes out from the empty bedroom. “People are superstitious Beez. They believe in ghosts and curses and stuff.”</p>
<p>Anathema scoffs from the kitchen. “Hey, lay off buddy. You’ll be running to me to smudge this place in no time. Trust me. Something feels off about it.”</p>
<p>“You’re a doctor, Anathema. How do you believe in all of that woo woo shit?” Aziraphale’s voice sounds tinny in the empty space.</p>
<p>“Western medicine isn’t everything, you know? It wasn’t all that long ago that germs were considered woo woo shit. Poor Semmelweis was ridiculed so badly for suggesting that people wash their damn hands that he died in an asylum. Because he deigned to believe some woo woo shit might save birthing mothers’ lives. Spoiler alert. He was right.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale comes back into the main living room and gazes around, hands on his hips. “Fine. Smudge it. Bring over some crystals. Give it a sound bath. Whatever. We could use all the good energy we can get.”</p>
<p>Anathema frowns. “Did she really die in here?”</p>
<p>Crowley cuts in. “It was a stroke. She wasn’t like… ritually murdered or something.” Aziraphale steps out onto the balcony and turns to look at the skyline. Crowley joins him and they lean on the railing together. “Ready to sign the papers?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiles. “Let’s do it.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Over the past few years their little lives had outgrown that single Billy bookcase. It took a lot longer to move across the street than it did to move across the city from their dingy little southside efficiency. Beez refused to help again. Until Anathema pulled them aside for a little private chat. Batted her lashes a bit. Ran her fingertip down Beez’s arm. Suddenly after that they were practically sprinting across the street with boxes. Aziraphale and Crowley gave each other knowing looks as they hurried away at the end of the afternoon, declining the standard beer and pizza payment, and then yanked the curtains closed across their balcony door immediately upon returning to their apartment.</p>
<p>Although they had acquired a lot of stuff over the years, they had never had occasion to buy much in the way of furniture. Now, though, they had an entire apartment to fill. With no help from Beez this time around. Aziraphale had received his first handful of paychecks as an officer and even though they were meager, it was more money than he had ever made in his life. Crowley had been keeping things on the mostly legal side. He’d even spent some time lately driving for a private security company. Moving big names between big buildings and to and from an airport he’d never flown out of before. When he wasn’t driving for someone else he was borrowing garage space to work on the Supra. It was slick and dark and fast and every once in a while, even though it was manufactured in 1987, it made him some street racing money. (<em>Mostly</em> legal. Not entirely.) For the first time in their lives they actually had savings. It was all very novel.</p>
<p>To say that they splurged would be a bit of an understatement. The day they signed their new lease they also spent more money than they’d ever spent on a single object, including Crowley’s car, on luxurious leather sectional from a high end furniture store in Lincoln Park. Then a king-sized bed that took up most of the space in the bedroom. They bought a dining room table that they would never end up eating at and three more Billy bookcases, this time with the fancy glass doors and interior lighting attachments. To top it all off Crowley dropped some serious bank on one of the largest cactuses that Aziraphale had ever seen growing out of a pot.</p>
<p>He stares at it for a long time before turning to Crowley. “How the fuck did you even get that in here?”</p>
<p>Crowley only waggles his brows in response and continues carefully unloading the rest of his jungle onto little vintage wire shelves next to the balcony doors. Aziraphale drags another heavy box full of books around in front of the bookshelves and begins unloading them. This box is special to him. He draws out journal after journal. Leather bound. His initials monogrammed on the corner of every one of them. He doesn’t want to think about how much money Crowley has spent on them over the past couple of years. He won’t tell him where he is buying them, so he can’t get them himself. He touches each one. Softened from years of revisiting them. Smells the leather as it warms under his hands. He knows the contents of every one by heart by now. But he still pulls them out from time to time and pages through. He tucks them away in chronological order on the top shelf and sticks one of Anathema’s crystals next to them. Just for good measure. He takes the most recent out of the box. The leather is still stiff. It is lighter in color. He knows that over time, as it absorbs the oils from his fingers and palms that it will darken too and earn its place on the top shelf next to all the others. He brushes his fingers along the monogram. <em>AZF</em>. He carries it into the bedroom and sets it on his brand new nightstand next to his brand new reading lamp and the mouth guard that Crowley had tried very hard to lose in the move.</p>
<p>He hears Crowley gasp from the living room and peeks out just in time to see him open the balcony door slowly and creep out on his hands and knees. Aziraphale raises a brow and leans out further trying to get an eye on whatever it is that Crowley is trying to accomplish. He can see him reaching his fingers out and wiggling them around.</p>
<p>“Crowley?”</p>
<p>He shushes him and gestures for him to come closer. As Aziraphale approaches he turns to him and whispers. “We have anything in the fridge yet? Ham or cheese or something?”</p>
<p>“What? Why would you…” He sees movement on the fire escape that is a foot or so from their balcony. The flick of a tail.</p>
<p>“Tss tss tss. Here kitty.”</p>
<p>“Oh for Christ’s sake, Crowley. Stop trying to steal someone’s cat!”</p>
<p>“She isn’t wearing a collar. Plus, people don’t have outdoor cats around here. She’s probably a stray. Now get me some cheese.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale rolls his eyes but goes to check the fridge. They have not a single vegetable in the fridge yet, but they do have three different kinds of cheese. He sighs and breaks off a chunk of the cheapest option. Crowley snatches it from him and breaks it into smaller pieces, makes a little trail from their balcony into the apartment and sits inside to wait, eyes wide.</p>
<p>“What if it has fleas? You can’t just bring random cats in here. Does our lease even allow pets?”</p>
<p>The cat jumps to the balcony and Crowley clasps his hands together. “Oh, she is cute. Look at those tiny little feet. Good kitty! Come on, that’s it.” She follows the trail into the apartment and rubs against the little shelf that is now overflowing with houseplants. “Who’s a pretty kitty? Tss tss tss, come here.” He is wiggling his fingers at her again. She eyes Aziraphale suspiciously and Crowley glares at him. He finally sighs and squats closer to the ground. Makes himself smaller. Less intimidating. The cat finally saunters over to Crowley and rubs against his hand. He squeals a little and slaps at Aziraphale behind him in his excitement.</p>
<p>“Crowley. We can’t keep it.”</p>
<p>“Maybe <em>you</em> can’t. I have a cat now.” Aziraphale sighs again, louder this time though. The cat rubs against his leg then trails around him toward their bedroom.</p>
<p>“No way. No cats in the bed. Who knows where it’s been.” He gets up and closes the bedroom door quickly and if cats could glare, she would have in that moment. She hops back toward Crowley and crawls across his lap.</p>
<p>“Do we have more cheese?” The cat licks at his arm, nibbles on him right where he is tattooed with an apple, part of his in-progress sleeve. He giggles. “Just like Eve. Can’t resist the temptation to take a bite.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>
  <em>Now</em>
</p>
<p>Aziraphale takes a deep breath. He has never stepped foot in Gabriel’s precinct before. Beez is tracking his car. Is in his ear to let him know should he decide to turn in early. There’s no reason for him to do so, of course. But there is no reason to risk it. Tucked up under his shirt is an evidence kit with his own blood. His own DNA. He needs to get in, find the outgoing samples and swap it before it can hit the crime lab. It is risky to do it this way, but it would be nearly impossible once it was in transit. Not unless he wanted to risk casting doubt on all of the other samples if he were to get caught. And that would mean rape kits untested. Murder cases thrown out. He can’t bear the thought of having that on his conscience. Not after everything else that he’s learned in the last 48 hours. And so, intercepting the evidence transport was right out. He could intercept it on the other side of things, of course. But security is much tighter in the lab than in the station, ironically enough. That false sense of security is firmly in place here. All those cops. Who would risk it? Aziraphale would, apparently. And so would half of the PD if he had learned anything over the past few years.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know the layout here beyond a general inclination from being in other stations. The basic set up is going to be the same. But he doesn’t know where Gabriel’s desk is. He doesn’t know if the sample is sitting there or in evidence or already with the transport team ready to get packed up. Hell. It might not be in the station at all. Gabriel might still have it on him. He has to try, either way. If that sample gets tested and Gabriel is able to finger Crowley for taking the money and the girl, then he is as good as dead. And Aziraphale would move heaven and hell to keep that from happening.</p>
<p>Aziraphale knows, though, that when Gabriel gets the results that says that says <em>he</em> was the one responsible he won’t even think of going back and reporting to the man that they’ve stolen from. He’s going to come for him. It is going to take some time. But he will come. And Aziraphale is terrified. But he will be waiting for him.</p>
<p>Once inside the station he coasts on his badge. Hopes that no one will stop him. He walks with purpose, head up and shoulders back. Marches straight into the bullpen and not a single person stops him. He is amazed really. Anyone off the street with enough confidence could waltz in and out with no one giving them a second glance. He scans the room. There are a couple of men in suits at the far end of the bullpen and Aziraphale assumes they are detectives. That must mean that Gabriel’s desk is in the same area. He tucks his badge into his pocket, approaches the men, and clears his throat.</p>
<p>“Detectives, hey. Sorry to bother you, I’m interning with Maria down in evidence and she said that Detective O’Connor had a sample that needed to be picked up for transport to the lab. I guess he said that he’d leave it on his desk. Could you tell me where that is?”</p>
<p>The men hardly look up from the case files they are reviewing. Aziraphale knows the drill. Say you are an intern and suddenly you are invisible. You’re temporary. Disposable. No need to learn your name or your face. One of them gestures over his shoulder. “Next to the window.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.” He finds the desk and scans its surface. It is tidier than Aziraphale anticipated. Case files in neat stacks. Keyboard and mouse lined up with one another and centered perfectly under the monitor. He finds it all oddly unsettling. There is a single framed picture of a man and woman on their wedding day. Black and white. She is smiling. He is not. Aziraphale stares at it and swallows. No sample. He checks over his shoulder. The two detectives are gathering up files and their coffee cups and heading toward what appears to be a briefing that is about to begin in a glass walled conference room on the far side of the bullpen. Aziraphale takes a chance and opens the top drawer of his desk with his index finger. Pens and a calculator and a couple of paperclips. A notepad and a stapler. He closes it quietly and tries the one below it. Manila envelopes in hanging folders. He curses under his breath and tries the other side of the desk. The top drawer is a bust and the bottom appears to be more files. He should have known that Gabriel wouldn’t have just left it lying around. It is too important to him. He considers his options. He’s going to have to figure out where evidence is being stored prior to transport. Things might get sticky.</p>
<p>As he starts to slide the bottom desk drawer closed he notices the light catch and reflect back at him. There is something tucked away near the back of the drawer, behind the hanging files. He catches the drawer as it slides closed. Takes another scan of the room over his shoulder and then kneels quickly, pulling the files to the front of the drawer. Hidden behind them is a bottle of whisky, a sticky rocks glass and… Bingo. An evidence bag with a blood sample.</p>
<p>He makes the swap quickly. Pockets Crowley’s sample and hurries toward the exit. Just before he can step out of the bullpen one of the detectives from before steps into his path. “Find what you were looking for?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale startles. His eyes drop to his empty hands. “No… no, sorry. Maria texted. It wasn’t Detective O’Connor. It was, ah, Officer O’Brien. Southside Irish. What can you do?”</p>
<p>The man narrows his eyes for a minute then laughs loudly and slaps him on the back. “Can’t escape the Micks around here!”</p>
<p>Aziraphale forces out a laugh. “No sir.” The detective slips past him and into the briefing room and Aziraphale hurries toward the door.</p>
<p>As he slips into his car his hands are shaking. “Beez. It’s done. I made the swap.”</p>
<p>He can hear Beez sigh on the other end of the line. They don’t think this is a good idea. Aziraphale doesn’t know, but it has been keeping them up at night. They lay awake and stare at the ceiling while Fern flops around next to them and steals all of their blankets. On the plus side they are always awake when she has a bad dream. Is always there to comfort her. They haven’t told Aziraphale or Crowley how often she has bad dreams. They can’t find it in themself to put that burden on them.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Fern flings herself onto Crowley as soon as he walks through the door. Aziraphale has made him stay at home for an entire 24 hours without seeing her.  That didn’t stop him from making new post it note creations on their balcony doors. Little pixelated cats and smiley faces. Aziraphale had to remind him that she couldn’t read yet when he started putting “HI” up on the door. According to Anathema, though, she had recognized her name, which pleased Crowley to no end. After the sample swap he had to take it down. Just in case.</p>
<p>Crowley picks her up and shifts her onto his hip as he walks into the apartment. Fern makes silly faces at Aziraphale over his shoulder and he returns them, much to her amusement. When Crowley notices it makes his heart hurt. A lot of things have been doing that lately. In the living room Beez’s hair is pulled back in several brightly colored clips with little hearts on them and the fingernails of one hand are painted, the polish spilling outside of the confines of their nails in several places. Crowley laughs as Beez turns around and glares at them. “I see we’ve been doing makeovers.”</p>
<p>“Your turn pops. Prepare yourself. Anathema just dug out some old eyeshadow that looks like it was made in the eighties.”</p>
<p>“Oh I am so down. What do you say Fern, want to make me look pretty?” She nods excitedly and he sets her down to go gather her supplies while he positions himself cross legged against the couch.</p>
<p>“You have some info for us, Beez?” Aziraphale snags a couple beers out of the fridge and settles in on the couch behind Crowley, his legs bracketing his body.</p>
<p>Beez spins their office chair around and scoots closer. “I managed to identify your guy from the drop up north. Small fry, but I figured we could toss him in with the big guys anyway when we nail these fuckers. Looks like he’s currently working for the foreman for some construction going on southwest of the loop. Company’s been in some hot water for OSHA infractions and for working without permits. Nothing major. Not officially at least. Rumor mill says that they may have taken part in some pretty shady land dealings. Some suspicious accident took out their primary competitor in their most recent project.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale pops open the beers and hands one down to Crowley who takes a long swig and sets it on the coffee table. “So they’re paying off Gabriel for the investigations to drop or what?”</p>
<p>“Looks that way. Like I said. Small fry in comparison to most of the people on our list. But we can toss them in anyway.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale lifts a brow. “So we came over today just so you could tell us that?”</p>
<p>Beez frowns. “I didn’t invite you over. Crowley invited you over.”</p>
<p>“Crowley! You said something important had come up.”</p>
<p>Fern crawls into Crowley’s lap and he grins as she swipes bright blue eyeshadow onto his lid. “It had.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale turns to Beez. “I’m sorry. I tried. He’s slippery.”</p>
<p>“She’s getting better when you guys leave.” Crowley looks a little hurt at the words. Beez rolls their eyes. “A <em>little</em>.”</p>
<p>Fern has covered Crowley’s entire eyelids in the bright blue up to his brow bone and is now dabbing pink on his cheeks. “She still sleeping with you guys?”</p>
<p>“We managed a nap in your old room yesterday. She was down for about an hour. No issue if the door is open and she can see that I’m here. She just doesn’t like being alone. Especially at night.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale frowns. “Understandable.”</p>
<p>Crowley opens his eyes as Fern fumbles with a tube of lipstick. “Did you try a nightlight?”</p>
<p>Beez sighs loudly. “Of course we tried a nightlight you twat.”</p>
<p>“Maybe we could do like... a video call. Zira and I can sit with her online until she falls asleep.”</p>
<p>Beez shrugs. “And then what happens when she wakes up alone? In the dark?”</p>
<p>Crowley frowns, resulting in even more lipstick smudging onto his chin than was already there. Aziraphale interrupts. “She just needs time. It has only been a few days. What she needs is patience. Crowley, you of all people should know that. You know about trauma. And that is what she endured. Trauma. We still don’t know how long she was in there. Or if anything else happened to her. And this is on the heels of living a life in foster care. She’s had it rough. And I say, if she needs someone there to fall asleep and to feel safe, then we make sure someone is there. As long as it takes.”</p>
<p>Crowley looks over his shoulder and his eyes are damp but he is smiling. His heart hurts again.  “I’m so glad that I married you.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale is touched, but he can’t help but laugh out loud at Crowley’s face. “And I’m so glad I married you. Such a stunner.”</p>
<p>Crowley purses his lips and flutters his lashes. Fern crawls out of Crowley’s lap and up into Aziraphale’s with a handful of hair ties and clips. She hands them to Aziraphale who holds them out in one hand obediently. “Alright Peanut, what look are we going for today?”</p>
<p>“Pigtails!”</p>
<p>“Oh good choice. Maybe once you get his done I can do yours to match.” Her eyes go wide with excitement and she nods as she gets to work on Crowley’s hair.</p>
<p>Anathema emerges from the bathroom toweling at her hair. “Hey you two. I see you’re getting the Fern special.”</p>
<p>“It’s what all the cool kids are doing.” Fern has managed to get one messy pigtail into place, with a little help from Aziraphale, and is combing through the other chunk of Crowley’s hair carefully with a tiny green brush that was clearly made for dolls. Aziraphale leans over Fern and clips a barrette into his hair and Fern frowns and removes it. Places it back into his hand while squinting at him.</p>
<p>Anathema laughs. “It’s called a Fern special, not an Aziraphale special.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale helps her get the second hair tie into Crowley’s hair and then pulls her fine hair back into two curly little pigtails to match. He’s had a lot of practice helping Crowley out from time to time over the years. “So I guess everyone knows that I managed the swap yesterday.” He can feel Crowley tense between his legs. “We should be ready to go as soon as possible. All of the evidence needs to be ready to drop in a second.”</p>
<p>Beez nods. “I’m adding the new info now, so we should be good soon. We’ve got all of the financials from the jobs this year. All of the pay offs are tracked. I have the financials from the Solomon file that go straight back to Gabriel. I have the shoddy police work on the Solomon investigation and the utter shit show of the ME’s report, so that connection is out there too. We have all of his known associates. Audio from the club. The only thing not in there yet…” They turn and look at Fern.</p>
<p>Crowley is shaking his head. “She doesn’t go in. No fucking way.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale nudges him with a knee “Language! Both of you.” He leans around and looks at Fern. “Never repeat the bad things these two say. Ok?”</p>
<p>She nods. “Ok.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale is certain that if she spends too much time with them she will be making sailors blush before she is ten. The thought of her as a ten year old sends a little pang through his chest. He tries and fails not to think too much about it. “We can’t put Fern in there, but we need something about the fact that he isn’t only getting pay outs and, ah, helping journalists to the other side. That he is… you know.” He can’t quite bring himself to say the rest. It still makes his stomach churn.</p>
<p>“We have the audio…”</p>
<p>“If we release it, they’ll double down looking for her.” He runs his fingers through a pigtail. Watches it spring back. “They’ll put her back in the system if they find her. I… I can’t…”</p>
<p>Anathema takes a seat on the edge of Beez’s desk. “We’ll figure something out. We’ll get everything else ready to go, and if we need to, we can do a second drop. There needs to be some kind of investigation into it. But let’s get this nut job behind bars first.”</p>
<p>Fern scoots off of Aziraphale’s lap and back onto the floor with Crowley. Aziraphale chimes in again. “We also need to be more careful. Here, I mean. He’s going to be coming for me. We can’t…” He puts his hands on Crowley’s shoulders. “I’m sorry Crowley, but we need to keep our distance. We can’t put everyone else at risk once those results come in. We have a few weeks. Maybe a month tops. But we need… we need to start putting in some distance. We might even want to think about… well. Alternative options. For Fern.”</p>
<p>Crowley nods. His face is drawn. Aziraphale knows that it hurts. It hurts him too. He wishes there were some other way. Any other way. But this is what is safest. Crowley shakes his head a little and tugs Fern close and kisses her hard on the cheek, leaving a big set of red lips behind. She squeals and giggles and he does it again and again until she manages to wriggle away and climb up onto the couch to hide behind Aziraphale. Crowley shifts his attack to Aziraphale instead, who valiantly protects Fern, and plasters him with messy kisses until all three of them fall into a heap on the couch.</p>
<p>Beez rolls their eyes, but can’t fully suppress their smile.</p>
<p>Anathema snaps photos of the whole mess.</p>
<p>Crowley laughs while his heart is breaking.</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s head is stuck in the ‘what ifs’ that he promised Crowley so long ago didn’t matter. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Our timelines are starting to kiss. Just like our boys.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Then</em>
</p><p>“The mob, Aziraphale? The fucking mob?” Beez stares, horrified. “We can't fuck with the mob. Isn't that how you end up with cement shoes?”</p><p>“We wouldn't be fucking with the mob, exactly. We'd be fucking with a lawyer. Who just happens to take money from the mob to help cases go away. By giving that money over to Gabriel to scrub the evidence. They have a dozen other guys to do it. This one is just the most obnoxious. And links back to Gabriel.”</p><p>Beez scrolls through the Instagram page. Swim up bars and private cabanas and a sleek ultra modern yacht with a ten person crew. Two months ago it was a private villa in Tuscany and a week in Santorini. The month before that a weekend in Prague. In between vacations are photos of luxury cars and plates at <em>Alinea</em>.</p><p>Crowley watches the images scroll by. “She really does like to flaunt it, huh?”</p><p>“Wouldn't you? I mean, she's what, our age? Late twenties or so? And living the dream on that things dime. On his dirty mob money.”</p><p>“Maybe I should have married an old rich guy. Look at that fucking Bentley. Oh mama.”</p><p>Aziraphale elbows him. “Anyway... They wouldn't know it was linked to the mob anyway. This guy has a bunch of accounts. He flaunts his wealth. He’s in the paper every other week for his shitty smug behavior. We drain a little here, a little there. It looks personal. By the time anyone figures out we're targeting people with Gabe in their pocket, they'll be too focused on him to think about the mob.”</p><p>Beez scowls, but that's not really new. “And the mob won't think about the mob?”</p><p>Aziraphale sighs. “We aren't touching the mob, Beez. We won't include anything about the mob in the final drop. Just that a lawyer is paying off the police for favorable outcomes for his clients. We leave the mob out of it. For now at least.”</p><p>“How did you find out about this guy anyway?”</p><p>“Oh my God you should hear how people talk at the station. This shit is just out there. You have to read between the lines a little, but you catch a hint here or there, check out a couple case files and the coincidences just jump out at you. The good guys know but can't do anything about it and the dirty cops don't give a fuck. Or they are involved.”</p><p>Crowley frowns. “I can't believe no one has looked into this before.” Aziraphale darts his eyes away. Chews at the inside of his lip. Crowley squints at him. Leans closer. “Ok spill. I know that look.”</p><p>“What look?”</p><p>“That look that says you aren't telling me something.”</p><p>Aziraphale sighs. “So... Maybe someone has looked into it before.”</p><p>Beez's eyebrows go up.</p><p>There was a guy. Investigative reporter. I guess he was looking into all of this. Had sources on the inside. He'd uncovered a lot of the people funneling money into dirty cops. Had identified a lot of the cops involved. Was ready to drop a big story.</p><p>Crowley waits for him to continue. Loses patience. “And?”</p><p>“And nothing ever came of it.”</p><p>Crowley glares at him. “Why?”</p><p>“He... Ah. He may have ended up... A little bit…  murdered?”</p><p>Crowley throws his hands up. “Oh what the fuck Aziraphale?!”</p><p>“Look, I didn't know at first, ok? Heard some murmurs here and there. Someone had the case file out. I caught a glimpse. Shuffled through a little while it was left unattended. I didn’t want to freak you guys out.”</p><p>Beez gapes. “Why wasn't this all over the fucking news?”</p><p>Aziraphale shrugs. “ME ruled it a suicide. There wasn't an investigation after that.”</p><p>Crowley runs his hands through his hair. “Jesus Christ...”</p><p>Beez perks up. “You said there was a file? What all was in it?”</p><p>“Interview transcripts, financial records, crime scene docs, ME report, some photos... You know. All the usual. There was...” He sighs. “A photo of Gabriel. There were a lot of photos, but this one was actually labeled. The archangel.”</p><p>Crowley looks angry. He’s miffed that someone is co-opting his nickname for Aziraphale. He doesn’t like the connection, no matter how unintentional. “The archangel?”</p><p>“Code name. The top brass. The boss. The ringleader. You know. It puts him at the top of all of this.”</p><p>“If we can get that file we'll have so much more info. Chase all that out. Right now we have all financial stuff. But murder? That shit sticks.”</p><p>Crowley looks up. “Oh wow, yeah, you're right. Angel, can we get a copy?”</p><p>“I can look into it. But you can't just walk into records and grab whatever case file you want. There is a system in place meant to prevent exactly that. Locked room. Front desk. You have to sign in and list the files that you need. It's a whole thing. I don't know exactly where the file lives, so I can’t just snatch it. I could get into deep shit if someone finds me digging around in there. I'm too new on the force. They don't trust me yet. Not fully. I'll need time.”</p><p>“Aren't there like... Digital copies of all of this?”</p><p>“Well yeah, but I can only access them from the network. That would be a two minute check to get me busted. And the bullpen has too much activity to jump on someone else's computer. There is always someone around. Always. Plus, not everything has been digitized. The department is so far behind it is ridiculous. At the end of the day, it would be less risk to grab the real thing and sneak it out than to poke around in there.”</p><p>Beez sips at their gin and tonic. “Ok, let's back burner this for now. We’ll get what we originally planned for and if this file works out, it is more fuel for the fire. But let’s not count on it. So.  Walstead. What are we thinking here?”</p><p>Crowley sits up straight. Clearly excited. “Easy. We target the wife. Walstead is scummy but he isn't stupid. I bet we can Phish his wife though. That woman has no sense of privacy. The shit she puts on the internet. I think we can get a couple passwords from her and waltz right into his safe. Electronically speaking.”</p><p>“And what are we doing with the money?”</p><p>Aziraphale jumps in. “Donating it. We need public support, just in case. Plus, I mean... We're the good guys here. We can't just take the money.”</p><p>Crowley tilts his head side to side. “Welll... Not all of it at least.”</p><p>Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Ok, ok so maybe it would be nice to skim a little off the top. Pay ourselves for the trouble. Plus, we could use a reserve in case everything goes tits up. Speaking of.” He drops his gaze to his hands. “We should also be ready to bail and get the fuck out of dodge. I'm talking go kits with cash and new identities. Bourne style. That's the deal. We all have to be ready to disappear. And either you're cool with that or you're out. I can't risk being responsible for any of you in jail or worse.”</p><p>Silence settles over the room. They've all only ever known life here. In this city. It's all they've ever had. It feels close to impossible to drop everything and leave.</p><p>For the first time, Anathema breaks the silence from her spot across the room. Beez doesn’t want her involved, but they want her informed. “I'm in.”</p><p>Beez smiles at her. “Well shit. If she's in you know I'm in.”</p><p>Crowley drapes an arm over Aziraphale's shoulder. “Baby, I've been in from the moment I met you.”</p><p>--</p><p>Crowley takes a centering breath and dials. The phone rings three times before someone picks up on the other side. He puts on his best customer service voice.</p><p>“Hi, this is Jason over at Wells Fargo, I'm calling for Ms. Walstead.</p><p>…</p><p>Oh lovely, and how are you today Ms. Walstead?</p><p>…</p><p>Good, good. Well, I don't want to alarm you, but it appears that there has been some fraudulent activity on some of your accounts.</p><p>…</p><p>No... no, not to worry Ms. Walstead, we have the most comprehensive fraud protection in the business. We'll be sure to set everything to rights, we just need a few pieces of information from you to get the process going and then we'll take care of the rest.</p><p>…</p><p>Oh, no, really, we do this for all of our highest tier accounts.” He smirks at Aziraphale and Beez. Crowley has always been a pro at flattery. At finding those secret places that we are most proud of, even though we'd be too embarrassed to admit it. For Aziraphale it is his bravery. An attribute he doesn't feel he possesses and therefore feels a twinge if someone says he does (although in this case, Crowley firmly believes it to be true). For Beez it is their technological prowess. They know they are good, but they don't like to admit that they want other people to recognize just how good they are. They don’t like to admit that they care what other people think. And Anathema is proud of her quirk. Her little witchy rebellions in spite of her medical degree. Crowley knows all of these things. And he tries not to exploit them too often. But he does tend to get his way in the group.</p><p>“Yes, if you could just confirm your account number ending in 8972.”</p><p>Crowley jots down the number with a smirk.</p><p>“Aaand the password on the account? Just to make sure I'm really speaking to Ms. Walstead, of course. You wouldn't believe the things people are capable of. Forwarding incoming phone calls and whatnot. It's scary sometimes the lengths that people go to for a few dollars.”</p><p>Crowley winks at Aziraphale who rolls his eyes but grins all the same.</p><p>Crowley jots down the password and Beez is in the account immediately. They waste no time beginning the wires. Transferring the funds into a shell account and then into various charities across the city. By the time Crowley hangs up the phone, with enough info to get into two offshore accounts as well (she really isn't the sharpest knife in the block) the job is done. They stare at the numbers on the screen.  A series of ones and zeroes flitting from one server to the next over encrypted channels. Bouncing around the globe so many times that it would take a hundred years to unravel the patterns and trace the money back to Walstead. It turns out no one would really care that much about it anyway.  </p><p>“So that's it?” Aziraphale squints at the screen</p><p>Beez shrugs. “That's it. Here are your two brand new accounts with the fat we skimmed. Don't touch them. Not yet.”</p><p>Aziraphale's eyes bulge. “I thought you said a little!”</p><p>“That is a little. In comparison to what we took.”</p><p>“That is more than I make all year! More than I make in…in three years. Beez!”</p><p>“And it is pocket change to that motherfucker.”</p><p>Aziraphale's face looks pale. “Oh Jesus... What did I get us into.”</p><p>Crowley grins. He is shaking with excitement from grifting Ms. Walstead. “What's next?”</p><p>Beez grins back. “How do you feel about an art heist?”</p><p>--</p><p>Aziraphale gasps and grips the edge of the counter. “Oh my God AJ. Oh...  Oh <em>God</em>...”</p><p>As soon as they had walked through the door of their apartment Crowley had been on him. Had his belt unbuckled and his trousers unzipped before his back had even hit granite. From there he had spun Aziraphale around and yanked everything down around his knees and buried his face in between those soft generous cheeks so fast that Aziraphale didn’t have time to protest. Not that he would have.</p><p>Now Crowley was doing things with his tongue that were making Aziraphale's toes curl. Things that were bringing him to the precipice of an orgasm already. And he hadn't even touched his cock yet. Crowley was pressed so hard against him with his mouth that Aziraphale could already feel the bruises forming where his pelvis was grinding against the countertop. It only served to make things more exciting. To amp up the sensations surging through his body. A counterpoint to the pleasure coiling inside of him.</p><p>Crowley's tongue is plunging in and out of him deeper than he thought possible. Moving in ways more akin to a snake than a human. Aziraphale’s belly heaves against the cold countertop. There is snow falling outside of their kitchen window. Big fat soft flakes that drift slowly down and dampen all of the noise of the city. The hard stone countertop is cold against his skin and goosebumps rise up on his arms and chest. His nipples harden. As if Crowley knows, somehow, he reaches a hand up under his shirt and squeezes one between his fingers. Hard enough to make Aziraphale yelp. Hard enough to make his cock jump where it stands proud between his legs.</p><p>Crowley pulls away, panting. Cheeks flushed. Pupils dilated. Aziraphale stares at him over his shoulder, entranced by the look on his face. Like Aziraphale is a piece of meat. Crowley runs his hands up and down the sides of Aziraphale’s hips. “I want to fuck you. Can I fuck you? Can we do that?”</p><p>Aziraphale can only nod for a moment before he finds his voice. It comes out more like a squeak than he would have preferred. “Yeah. Yes.” Things usually run the opposite, but they've been together long enough to switch things up from time to time. Keep things interesting. And it isn't that Aziraphale doesn't enjoy it this way, just that Crowley usually prefers to be on the receiving end of things.</p><p>Crowley stands and presses against him with his hips, pulls him away from the countertop until his back is flush against his chest. Aziraphale groans quietly as his hands slip around his middle and skirt low across his belly. Crowley’s lips find the side of his neck and then the lobe of his ear. His fingers caress those flushed spots on his hips that were up against the counter then slide down and tease at the crease between his thigh and groin.</p><p>His voice is low and rough. “You want to ride my fat cock? You want me to fill you up?” Aziraphale smirks. So it is going to be one of those nights. Crowley is feeling cocky after the job. Powerful. He likes to ride highs like this. Keep a tight grasp on that feeling. Aziraphale is happy to indulge. Loves it when Crowley is feeling confident and in charge. It is a good look on him.</p><p>Aziraphale turns around, trousers still down around his knees. “I want you so bad.” He kisses him next to his ear. “I need you.”</p><p>Crowley growls and crooks his finger at Aziraphale as he walks backward toward their bedroom.  Aziraphale tugs his trousers up enough to follow him, grinning the whole way.</p><p>In the bedroom he undresses for Crowley. Slowly. Plucking one button from its hole at a time. Fingers moving at a snail’s pace. Crowley watches from his perch on the edge of the bed. Palms at himself through his jeans. Groans as Aziraphale finally steps out of his boxers. When he is finally naked he pulls Crowley's sweater up over his head then presses him back onto the fluffy duvet with a hand against his chest. He tugs off Crowley's socks. Then his jeans. He teases him through is boxer briefs for a minute then tugs them off too.</p><p>Crowley’s cock is straining upward and damp at the tip. Aziraphale wants it. He wants it inside of him. <em>Now.</em> He fumbles in his nightstand until he finds that familiar narrow bottle and hands it to Crowley. He takes it with a grin then sits up against the headboard. As he pops the cap with one hand he uses the other to situate Aziraphale over his thighs. Spreads his own legs a little further to stretch Aziraphale’s wide. He sucks a nipple into his mouth as he reaches back and plunges two fingers into him. Aziraphale cries out and sinks down onto him until his knuckles are flush against his skin. He reaches his own hand down and jerks at his cock as Crowley fingers him. His breath is going ragged already.</p><p>Crowley pulls his lips away from Aziraphale’s collar bone where he has been biting and sucking a bruise into the skin. “You like that? Feel good?”</p><p>He crooks his fingers against Aziraphale’s prostate and his body twitches on top of him. “Y-yeah. So good. Oh...”</p><p>Crowley spreads him open with his other hand and Aziraphale throws his head back at the feeling of being taken deeper. Stretched further.</p><p>“Such a pretty thing. Gorgeous. Fucking gorgeous.” Aziraphale smiles at his words. “Do you want my cock now? Are you ready?”</p><p>Aziraphale nods. “Yes. Yes I want your cock. I want you so bad. Please don’t make me wait.”</p><p>Crowley chuckles and groans at the same time. He knows that Aziraphale is indulging him. It is still sexy. Even more sexy, somehow. That he knows every little way to please him. Always willing to fulfill his desires. He withdraws his fingers and guides Aziraphale's hips down onto him. As Aziraphale takes him fully, Crowley's jaw drops. He stares up at Aziraphale's face. He wants to memorize the look of bliss that is etched there. Conjure it up when Aziraphale is on night shifts.</p><p>Aziraphale keeps feeding his ego as he starts to move in Crowley's lap. He knows the things he likes to hear when he gets like this.</p><p>“Oh God Crowley. So good. You fill me up so good. Fuck me so good.”</p><p>Crowley grasps Aziraphale's waist and thrusts up into him with a groan.</p><p>“Ah! Yeah, like that. Just like that.” Aziraphale has one hand on the headboard and the other wrapped up loosely in Crowley's hair. They move together. Aziraphale's thighs flexing and shaking as his body rises and falls. Crowley's abs contracting as he thrusts upward with his hips. Aziraphale mumbling about all of the ways that Crowley makes him feel. About how much he needs him.</p><p>Aziraphale lets his fingers slide out of Crowley’s hair and he leans backward.  Collapses backward onto the bed. He wants to feel like he is being fucked. Like he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. Crowley sits up onto his knees and drags Aziraphale's ankles up onto his shoulders.  His calves and thighs against his chest and belly. He leans into him, fingers wrapping around the fronts of his knees. Aziraphale's hands fist in the sheets above his head. He grits his teeth. “Fuck me like you mean it.”</p><p>Crowley smirks and kisses his ankle and then he does. Fucks him hard enough to send ripples cascading over his flesh. Fucks him hard enough that he scoots toward the foot of the bed with each thrust. Until his head is hanging off the end and he is cursing at the wall behind him. Fucks him until Aziraphale can't hold back any longer and jerks his own cock roughly until he spurts over his clenched fist onto his own chest. Until Crowley is shouting and filling him up even further. Until each thrust squelches obscenely with his own spend. Until he finally slips out and collapses onto the bed next to Aziraphale, heaving and sweating despite the cold.</p><p>Aziraphale just smiles and giggles as Crowley pants next to him. His head still hanging off the end of the bed. Eventually Crowley turns. Faces Aziraphale with a grin stretching his lips.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Good Lord, Crowley. I don't remember that last time you fucked me like that. <em>Fuck</em>.”</p><p>Crowley crosses his hands under his cheek and smirks, but there is also a shyness there. A hint of uncertainty. “I, uh, guess I got a little excited. After the job or whatever. Was it... I hope it was ok?”</p><p>“Crowley, that was way better than ok.” He runs his hands through his hair and puffs out his cheeks. “But I think you're going to have to carry me for a couple days. I'm pretty sure my legs don't work anymore.”</p><p>Crowley props himself up on his elbows and scooches over so his face is hovering over Aziraphale. “I'd be happy to.” He brings a hand to Aziraphale's cheek and kisses him. When he pulls away Aziraphale reaches up and pulls him back in. Their mouths linger together. Their fingers explore. If his cock would cooperate Aziraphale would flip them over and ride Crowley again and again. All night. But it refuses for now.</p><p>Crowley pulls away. “Will you marry me?”</p><p>Aziraphale laughs. “We're already married.”</p><p>“Yeah, but let's do it again. When this is all over.  Get new rings. Real rings. Put on suits. Have a party. Go on a honeymoon. The whole shebang.”</p><p>Aziraphale runs his fingers down Crowley's ribcage. He thinks back to the day they got married. Married for real. Not just a civil union, but an actual marriage license. They ordered cheap titanium rings online. Aziraphale wore mostly white. Crowley wore mostly black. Neither wore suits. They got a handful of friends together and found a quiet shady spot next to the lake and Beez said nice things about them for once. They performed a hand fasting, which they were both a little confused about but ended up adoring. Beez had asked them both to bring an object for the fasting. Something meaningful. Something that symbolized their love. Crowley brought a bright yellow piece of yarn. A nod to that scarf that Aziraphale had given away in the Woods when they were nine years old. The moment that Crowley fell. Aziraphale had brought the same thing. When Beez pulled both from their pocket with a grin they had both been confused. And when they realized, they had fallen in love all over again. They keep the cords, braided tightly together, with a photo from the wedding on their bookcase.</p><p>Aziraphale smiles. “Yeah, l'll marry you again. I'd marry you as many times as you asked.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Double chapter kind of day? Sure, why not?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Now</em>
</p><p>“I'm divorcing you. I'm divorcing you right fucking now.”</p><p>Crowley rolls his eyes. “I thought you'd be happy about this.”</p><p>“About you putting yourself at risk again? Needlessly? Crowley what if something had happened to you today. You had no back up. None. What were you <em>thinking</em>?” Aziraphale is pacing around their apartment. Eve paces after him.</p><p>“We need all the assurance we can get. We need to hand over so much evidence they have no choice but to convict. Anything less than everything and he'll weasel out of it. You know it’s true.”</p><p>“You could have told me. You <em>should</em> have told me.”</p><p>“You've got enough on your plate right now. I didn’t want to worry you.”</p><p>Aziraphale huffs. Fumes. Crowley is right about needing all of the evidence they can get, but he is too stubborn to admit it. They have so many bits of information, but without everything there is always the chance that Gabriel and all of his cronies walk. But that doesn't mean that Crowley needed to go out and follow two more drops on his own to finally catch the money moving over the full spectrum. From the perp to the middleman to an officer and finally delivered straight to the archangel himself. Not by himself. He hadn't even looped in Beez. Not until he needed a little extra help linking the perp to an assault charge that wouldn't stick.</p><p>Aziraphale also isn't entirely sure that Crowley isn't getting himself deeper just as a distraction. It had been just shy of two weeks since Aziraphale had swapped the blood samples in Gabriel's desk and ever since they'd been limiting the time they were spending with Fern. Results usually take at least three weeks, but no need to go get reckless at the final hour. They had only seen Fern once in the past five days and even then they had driven all the way across the border into Wisconsin to do so. They had spent the day hiking through the fall colors and eating cheese curds and it was beautiful and it was perfect but it had left Crowley reeling for days for the possibilities. For what could be. And Aziraphale's heart ached for him, but it also had to remain steely. He needed to be strong where Crowley couldn't, just like Crowley had done for him before. It was how things worked. They couldn't both break at the same time. They had to be each other's guylines. So that when the winds blew and they leaned over, they wouldn't both go tumbling away.</p><p>“Are you going to be mad at me all night?”</p><p>“Probably.”</p><p>“Will you be less mad if I promise that this is it? No more surveillance. No more jobs. No more. I'm retiring.”</p><p>Aziraphale looks at him from the corner of his eye. “I don't know if I'd believe you.”</p><p>Crowley brushes his hands together, holds up empty palms. “Finished. Done. I'm washing my hands of it. We’re on the data side of things now. Beez and I are polishing everything. It’ll be done soon enough. And that is it.”</p><p>Aziraphale still looks at him skeptically. “You're trying to tell me you aren't going to miss all this? That you can just walk away?”</p><p>“Sure. Why not?”</p><p>“Crowley, I've never seen you so... so alive as you are on a job.”</p><p>“I can get my kicks somewhere else. I'll figure it out.” His eyes flit to the balcony door and to the lights in the living room across the street.</p><p>“Crowley, look. You're good at this. I know it. You know it. I'm not mad that you enjoy it. I think you're amazing. I don't even care if you want to keep taking down marks after this is all over. I'll support that. I'm mad that you didn't think you could tell me. That you didn't have back up. If something had happened, we wouldn't have known. I couldn't have been there.” He takes Crowley's hand. “This only works when we're a team. That's how it has always worked and it is how it will always work. You and me.”</p><p>“Look, I'm sorry. It was dumb. But I just... I just couldn't stand the thought of him slipping out of this. It was always bad enough to imagine what might happen to you if he didn't go down. Thinking about that kills me. Fucking <em>kills</em> me, Angel. I literally have nightmares about it. But now... Now.” He swallows and his eyes flit back to the balcony doors.</p><p>Aziraphale is still mad. Still fuming. But his anger could never compete with his love. With his need to protect Crowley. To comfort him. To reassure him.</p><p>“Oh, AJ. Come here.” He puts his arms around his shoulders and rests their cheeks together. “That little girl has more family now than she ever has before. And none of us would let a single thing happen to her. Ever. Tracy is picking her up in the morning to get her out of the city until things settle. We'll sneak over first thing to say goodbye. We're going to get through this. But only if we stick together. So promise me. <em>Promise</em> me you won't do something like this. Ever again. I can’t stand the thought…” Aziraphale doesn't realize he is crying until he feels a tear drop off of his chin onto Crowley's shoulder.</p><p>Crowley is whispering. He hugs him tight. “I know… I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please. Don’t cry. I’m so sorry. Don’t cry, baby. Never again. I promise.”</p><p>-</p><p>As Tracy pulls away, Fern waving from the back seat, Crowley smiles widely. No one is fooled. Anathema and Beez and, most of all, Aziraphale, ready themselves to catch him. Like spotters for a gymnast that has miscalculated and veered far from the mats. The car hasn't even completely left view before his chin and lip are quivering and turns to walk briskly away, head hung low. He doesn't even know where he is going. He just needs to move. To occupy himself. To avoid the looks he is getting from his friends. It feels like pity. It makes him feel irrational. Broken.</p><p>Aziraphale jogs after him. “Crowley wait. Wait, where are you going?” Crowley ignores him. Swipes at his face and continues walking. “AJ, where are you going?”</p><p>He stops but doesn't turn around. He knows that if he sees Aziraphale's face he will cave. He will crumble apart right there in the street and Aziraphale will have to carry him home. And if that happens, he doesn't know if he'll be able to get up again. Piece himself back together. “I just need some space, ok? Can I have that? Is that allowed?”</p><p>“Are you sure you want to be alone right now?”</p><p>He can feel three sets of eyes boring holes into the back of his head. He is tired. He is scared. He is longing for something that he doesn't know he will ever be able to have.</p><p>Beez takes a step forward. “Crowley, I don't think...”</p><p>Crowley cuts them off. His voice comes out harsher than he means for it to. Angrier. “Oh my God can you all just fuck off? I'm fine. I just don't want anything to do with anyone for a while. Jesus fucking Christ.” He begins to walk again.</p><p>He walks aimlessly for half an hour. Lost inside his own head. When he finally stops he realizes he is standing beside his car. So he does what comes naturally to him. He gets in and lays rubber on the pavement and he drives.</p><p>--</p><p>“He's sensitive. You know that. Sometimes he just feels too much. He just needs some time. To figure out where to put it all. To find the right way to carry it so that it hurts less.”</p><p>Beez dumps an ungodly amount of sugar into their coffee and picks up the tiny blue plate. Carefully balances the oversized chocolate croissant as they make their way to an empty table in the back of the cafe.  “He shouldn't just run off like that though.”</p><p>“He's probably just out driving. Cooling down. He'll probably get like…halfway to Iowa or something and then feel bad and turn around. He'll be back this afternoon. And I'll be waiting. And it will be fine.”</p><p>“God you guys are obnoxious. Do you always have to be so... there... For each other? So understanding?”</p><p>Aziraphale laughs. “Please. Like you and Anathema aren't exactly the same.”</p><p>Beez snorts. “If I'd gotten saucy and walked away like that Anathema would change the locks.”</p><p>“Oh whatever.”</p><p>“I'm just saying, you coddle him sometimes.” Beez shoves the croissant into their mouth.</p><p>“I do not coddle him.”</p><p>Bits of pastry fall out of Beez’s mouth onto the little blue plate as they talk with their mouth full. “Do too.”</p><p>“I do not. And if I did, which I don’t, he deserves it. I mean… Christ, Beez. What all has he done for me? I could never repay him for all of the ways that he takes care of me.”</p><p>Beez stares into their coffee. They aren’t the type to back away from an argument. Just as they open their mouth with another retort Anathema walks up to the table, coffee in a paper cup. “Hey, I’m heading in to work. Zira, don’t forget to swing by at some point for your flu shot. You know you’re at risk without that spleen. You should’ve gotten one already.”</p><p>“I know, I know. I’ll get one. Promise. I’ve got a couple of errands to run this morning, but I’ll come in this afternoon.”</p><p>She leans down and gives Beez a peck on the lips. “And don’t forget to check in with Tracy. She said she’d let us know when she got to Ann Arbor. Let us know how Fern is doing. But if you don’t hear anything by noon or so, give her a call. Make sure Fern hasn’t had a meltdown or something.”</p><p>Beez smiles up at her. Beez smiles at very few people. “Yes dear.”</p><p>“And Zira, let me know when you hear back from AJ, yeah? I’m worried about him.”</p><p>Aziraphale nods. “I’ll loop everyone in as soon as I hear back. I’m telling you though. He just needs a few hours. I know him. He’s fine.”</p><p>“Are <em>you</em> fine too?”</p><p>He looks down at the creamy foam on his latte. “I’ll be fine. Soon enough.” Anathema squeezes his shoulder and heads back toward the door. When he looks up Beez is texting. “He won’t respond to texts right now. You shouldn’t bother.”</p><p>“Who says I’m texting him?”</p><p>“What, do you have other friends all of a sudden?”</p><p>Beez laughs. “Fair enough.”</p><p>-</p><p>Two hours later Aziraphale walks back through the front door of their apartment. He hasn’t heard from Crowley, but what he said to Beez is true. Sometimes he needs space. And time. Needs to figure things out on his own. Or at least try before he comes back and asks for help. He drops his keys on the table next to the door with a sigh. It is going to be a rough couple of weeks. Or longer. They have no way of knowing, really.</p><p>A shadow moves over the entry from the living room and Aziraphale hears footsteps. He perks up, relieved. “AJ, good, you’re home! I was worried you’d be gone all day. Look, babe, we’ll…”</p><p>He has a moment where it feels like his brain has disconnected from his body. Like he has discorporated and is floating in some liminal space between life and death. The man standing in his living room is not Crowley. No. This is a meat sack draped loosely around hatred. This is a nightmare in true color.</p><p>His body still isn’t responding. No matter how well he thought he was prepared for this moment, his body is unconvinced. He is paralyzed. His brain is racing but his limbs aren’t listening. It is too soon. The results shouldn’t be in yet. The timeline is off.</p><p>“Aziraphale O’Connor. As I live and breathe. My baby brother, back from the dead.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>😬</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Then</em>
</p>
<p>Aziraphale stares at the death certificate in his hands. It is a strange feeling. He died today. Crowley’s worst nightmare come true. Crowley knows it isn’t real. Well… It is officially real. But Aziraphale is still standing in front of him. Still breathing, albeit it labored and shallow. His ribs still creak. Staples still hold his torso closed. It isn’t real, but Crowley won’t look at it either way. He has hardly said a word all afternoon. He only clings to Aziraphale like they are testing fate. Daring someone to fulfill a destiny and if he just stays close enough he can ward them off.</p>
<p>“So that’s it, huh?”</p>
<p>Even Beez looks solemn. “That’s it.”</p>
<p>“Aziraphale O’Connor is gone.”</p>
<p>Beez smiles sadly. “And A.Z. Fell is born.”</p>
<p>He is relatively sure that he should feel something right now. Sadness. Anger. Relief. But in the end it just feels like an inevitability. His own brother had left him for dead in an alley. All because he had the audacity to love someone. To hold them and to kiss them. A luxury that most people would never think twice about. He’d called his mother from the hospital and she had hung up on him. And in that moment he had felt her fists on his coat and her foot on his ribs and it was as if she had left him alone and bleeding on the ground too. Gabriel had laid him out, but she had dealt the final blow.</p>
<p>“What ended up listed as cause of death?”</p>
<p>Beez glances at Crowley for a moment. They are hesitant. They speak quietly. “Infection. Post-surgical complications.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale sets the death certificate on the bed beside him and presses himself up carefully to stand. Crowley puts a hand on his low back as he does. Like he is afraid he’ll topple backward. He lets his hand trail after him like he wants to get up and walk beside him. Aziraphale crosses their tiny studio apartment and leans down and hugs Beez. Not as tightly as he wants to. But he does his best. “Thank you. For everything.”</p>
<p>Beez stares at Crowley wide eyed over Aziraphale’s shoulder for a moment but finally wraps their arms loosely around his waist. “Yeah, it was nothing.”</p>
<p>Crowley finally breaks his silence. He rubs his hands up and down his thighs. Nervous. “A.Z. Fell, huh?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale releases Beez and makes his way back to the bed. Crowley takes his elbow as he sits. Still frettiing over him every chance that he gets. He leans against him, rests a hand on his knee. Aziraphale smiles at him. “What are the odds? A.Z. Fell? Born just a year after me. Amazing. It feels like destiny.” He chuckles. “Do you want to know what the A.Z. stands for?”</p>
<p>Crowley shakes his head. “Nah. You’re always going to be Aziraphale to me. I’ll stick with the initials if I need them.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale folds the death certificate and tucks it into his bedside drawer alongside his brand new birth certificate and driver’s license. He takes Crowley’s hand and squeezes. “Maybe we should have a wake. Irish tradition after all.”</p>
<p>Crowley looks down at his lap. His voice is small. “I don’t know. I don’t think we should tempt the gods.”</p>
<p>Beez sits across from them. “What about a birthday then?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiles at Crowley. Elbows him gently. “I promise I’ll eat some cake.”</p>
<p>Crowley finally smiles weakly. “Cake <em>and</em> ice cream.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale leans close to him. “Deal.” He closes the last few inches and kisses him softly on the lips.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>
  <em>Now</em>
</p>
<p>Beez plunks down at their computer and draws their knees up to their chest. If you'd told them a couple weeks ago that they would miss having a little blond tornado under foot every day they would have laughed at you. Loudly. For a very long time. But now it just feels empty. They glance at the clock. It is barely past nine in the morning. They haven't been sleeping well. They gaze toward their bedroom. It is empty and quiet and dark. And where normally that would be like a siren song, it only compounds the loneliness they are feeling. They wish that Anathema had been able to get out of her shift or that Crowley hadn't been a total ass and stuck around. He isn't the only one struggling with everything, after all.</p>
<p>They think about Aziraphale. Maybe they can conjure up some excuse to sneak across the street. Keep one another company. Worry about Crowley together. At the very least they can drown their sorrows in a bottle of whiskey. Call it brunch.</p>
<p>They roll their chair a couple of feet to the side and peek out their balcony doors to the apartment across the street. The doors still have a couple of post it note hearts clinging to the glass with the last remnants of their adhesive. Crowley has dragged all of his overflowing pots of herbs inside and stuck them under a grow light to try to keep them through the coming winter. The only thing still on the balcony are the little table and chairs and a pot of mums not long for this world. There is movement inside the apartment, obscured slightly by the reflection of the sunlight off the glass. Beez squints a little. They can see that there is more than one person in the room across the street. Two blurry human shapes standing across the room from one another. They breathe a quiet sigh of relief. Crowley must have gotten home after all. And way sooner than even Aziraphale expected. <em>Hmm…</em> Something doesn’t feel right. Aziraphale knows Crowley inside and out. To the point that it makes Beez feel a little ill most of the time. If he thought that he was going to get home in the afternoon… They get up and move closer to the window. Cup their hands against the glass and look closer.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh shit… </em>
</p>
<p>Beez scrambles away from the door so quickly that they smash into their chair and topple over backward, hitting the ground hard. Their hands scramble frantically in their too small pocket and they are shaking so badly when they finally get their phone out of it that they manage to fling it into the air. It comes down hard too, screen cracking outward in jagged spokes from the corner.</p>
<p>“Fuck!” They struggle with the broken touch screen but manage to swipe open their recent contacts and hit the call button. It rings. And rings. And rings. “Come on Anthony. Answer your goddamn phone.” It goes to voicemail. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” They re-dial and for the first of only two times in their life, they pray.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Crowley has been ignoring his phone for the past three hours. It chirps at him every twenty minutes or so. Texts. They must be from Beez. No one else really bothers to text him except Aziraphale, and he has always given him space. Let him cool down and come around on his own time. Beez can wait. Everyone can wait. He’ll be home in less than an hour anyway. He’ll find a park somewhere close to home and he’ll wander until his legs are aching. And then he will walk sheepishly through his front door, tail tucked, and apologize to Aziraphale. Not because he needed space, but because he chose to take that space by walking away in a fog of harsh words. And eventually he’ll make it across the street and apologize to Beez and Anathema too. And because of their love for him, and his for them, they will accept his apology and when they do something shitty, because we all do shitty things from time to time, the deal will be the same.  </p>
<p>He can almost see the city skyline in the distance. So close, but he knows that soon enough he won’t be able to continue moving at this speed. That cars will end up bumper to bumper and slow and eventually stop where the asphalt arteries around the city intersect with one another. He considers his options. Staying on the Kennedy is the most direct route, but sometimes it is faster to cut down to the Eisenhower instead. He’ll get dumped out right in the west loop either way. He smiles as he passes the exit for Ikea. Thinks about the time that he and Aziraphale almost didn’t make it back into the city when they were moving in with Beez. The way that Aziraphale’s knee bounced the whole way home. How every sputter or tick in the engine made him flinch. Once they had finally gotten their footing, financially speaking, Crowley had never let the Supra drop below a half tank again. A quiet promise that he’d always take care of Aziraphale. Never leave them stranded.</p>
<p>His phone buzzes across the upholstery of the passenger side seat and he glances at it out of the corner of his eye. Beez again. A call though. Not a text. He doesn’t get phone calls often. Not unless… “Ok, ok, fine.” He goes to grab the phone and it slips from his fingers onto the floor in front of the passenger seat. “Goddamnit.” He stretches out as much as he can while still keeping his eyes on the road, but he can’t quite reach it. It goes to voicemail and he gives up. It probably isn’t important anyway. Right? It can’t be. He chews at his lip. Keeps glancing at the phone where it has fallen. He shakes it off. Mumbles to himself. “It’s fine. Leave it.” The phone starts buzzing again immediately. Beez rarely calls. And they never call more than once. His heart thunks a little faster. That space just below his ribcage seizes up slightly. He throws on his blinker and cuts across all four lanes of traffic, sneaking in between two eighteen wheelers before skidding to a stop on the shoulder, horns blaring and traffic flying by to his left. He throws the car into park and leans the rest of the way over to snatch the phone up.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Beez is frantic on the other end and just the cadence of their words and the pitch of their voice is enough to get Crowley’s hackles up. “He’s here, Crowley. You need to get back <em>now</em>. He is <em>here</em>.”</p>
<p>“Calm down, Beez, here where? Where are you? Where is he?” He doesn’t need to ask who.</p>
<p>“He’s in your fucking apartment! I can see him. Crowley, oh my God.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s heart stops. He doesn’t want to ask. He can’t stand to hear the truth. His lips move without his approval. The calm of his voice doesn’t match the tsunami of panic that is rising up inside of him. Or the fact that his entire body is already shaking. “Beez… Is Aziraphale home?”</p>
<p>“He’s home. Oh god, he’s there… They’re both…”</p>
<p>His body is still moving before his mind can process what it is doing. He blinks and the car is back in traffic. He blinks again and he is pushing that little black sports car to the limit and weaving dangerously in traffic. Beez is still on the line. He can hear their shaky, shallow breath rushing in and out over the microphone rapidly. “Beez. I need you to breathe. I need you to calm the fuck down right now.” Rich words from someone who is pretty sure they left their stomach on the shoulder two miles back and is trembling like they are having a grand mal. “Are you listening to me?”</p>
<p>Beez nods on the other end of the line. Takes a deep breath. “Listening. I hear you.”</p>
<p>“What are they doing? Walk me through what is happening.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I don’t know! It looks like they’re just talking.”</p>
<p>“Where is his gun?” He doesn’t need to ask if he has one. He’s a cop. And a monster. Of course he has his weapon with him. “Does he have it in his hand? Is he…”</p>
<p>“No… no I don’t see a gun. If he’s got one it is in a holster or his waistband or something.”</p>
<p>Crowley allows himself to breath just a touch easier. “Tell me about Aziraphale. Is he calm? Is he upset?”</p>
<p>“He’s… he looks calm. Angry maybe? He’s close to the door. Maybe he could…”</p>
<p>“Beez. That isn’t part of the plan. Ok. Focus. We’ve got two primary scenarios. You know this. He’s either going to do something now or he’s going to move Aziraphale.”</p>
<p>The cloud of panic is starting to lift for Beez. The body can only sustain that level of arousal for so long. Crowley’s command of the situation helps too. Makes things feel more under control than they are. “Right. Right. He… he won’t do anything now.” They glance around at the street below. At the morning sun climbing high in the sky. “It’s too early. Too exposed. Too busy. Too many people around to make a clean exit.”</p>
<p>“Exactly. So he’s going to move him. Are they still calm? Still talking?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Situation looks neutral right now.”</p>
<p>“You need to move now, then.”</p>
<p>Beez nods, crosses the room quickly and yanks open the door. “Moving now.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>“That’s not my name anymore.” Aziraphale can feel sweat prickle under his arms. He focuses on his breath. Forces himself to breathe slowly. He focuses on his body. Forces his muscles to relax. Lets his shoulders drop. Rolls his neck subtly. Unclenches his jaw. He always knew that he would need to do this part alone, but he didn’t anticipate not having the foggiest idea where Crowley was when it all went down. He mentally scans the room. Two exits. The front door was locked. Gabriel must have come in from the balcony. Climbed over from the fire escape. He was smart. Had noticed that they left the door cracked for Eve. Didn’t even need to bother picking the lock. Just walked right inside. He wonders how long he’s been watching them. How long he has known. His heart sinks as he thinks about Fern. Does he know about her? Does he know about Tracy, for that matter? He tries to focus. Worry isn’t going to help him out right now. He needs to remain calm.</p>
<p>Gabriel picks up a photo from the bookcase, a little braided yellow cord dropping to the ground. It is from their wedding. Both of them with their heads thrown back laughing. Each with a champagne glass in one hand and grasping each other around the waist with the other.  He’s always loved this photo. Loved how happy they look. Gabriel sneers and tosses it back onto the bookshelf. Aziraphale suppresses the urge to lunge at him.</p>
<p>“You always were a disgrace to the O’Connor name anyway. Too soft. Too weak.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale crosses his arms over his chest. Leans against the far end of the line of Billy bookcases. “Tell me Gabriel. Am I still too weak?”</p>
<p>Gabriel ignores him, but Aziraphale can see his lip twitch. He struck a nerve. “You shouldn’t have gone digging around where its none of your business. You should have done everyone a favor and just stayed dead.” </p>
<p>Aziraphale is stunned by the fact that his words still sting. All these years later and he can still hurt him. He doesn’t want to admit that he still cares in any way. “Does your little boyfriend know the mess you’ve got yourself caught up in?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale bristles. “Husband.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“He’s my husband. Get it right.” Gabriel only rolls his eyes and it kills Aziraphale how much it feels like looking in a mirror. He wants to pluck them out of his head so he doesn’t have to look at it again.</p>
<p>“You didn’t answer my question.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale narrows his eyes. Takes a gamble. “Maybe he does.”</p>
<p>Gabriel snorts. “I’ll take that as a no. Pussy like him. I’m not surprised you’d keep him in the dark.” Aziraphale tries not to visibly relax. He needs Gabriel to think he’s a lone wolf. He runs his hand over the books on the shelf and Aziraphale feels them run up his spine instead. He doesn’t want Gabriel’s hands on any of his things. “So look here little brother. You’ve been royally fucking up my income stream lately. I don’t know what your end game is, but I can make a few educated guesses. At the end of the day it doesn’t really matter. You and me, we’re going to take a little drive.”</p>
<p>“I’m not going anywhere with you.”</p>
<p>Gabriel laughs. “Oh, I think you will.” He pulls his gun out of the back of his waistband. Aziraphale isn’t surprised. But he had to at least give it a try. He gestures to the door with the barrel. “Move.” Aziraphale puts his palms up. “Out. Start walking. And don’t make any stupid moves, ok? It would be really annoying to get someone to clean up the mess of shooting you in broad daylight. After the past few months I don’t have many favors left.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale turns and walks slowly toward the door. He eyes the little lock box next to the front door. He could never get it open in time. Gabriel would drop him before he even got his hands on it.</p>
<p>“Wait.” Aziraphale stops. “Phone.” Aziraphale curses under his breath. He was really counting on that for Beez to be able to track him. He shouldn’t have, but what was he supposed to do? He’s all alone. This is too soon. They had plans. They were going to keep a tracker in his wallet so they could find him at any time. Were going to set up a wire for the house so they could catch him blabbering. Build a panic button so that Beez could be there in an instant with the drop. But now, he doesn’t have a choice. He slips his phone out of his pocket slowly and hands it over his shoulder to Gabriel who tosses it onto the couch behind him. He nudges Aziraphale with the gun and he continues on.</p>
<p>When his feet hit the sidewalk outside of their building his eyes go wide. Beez is standing on the sidewalk on the other side of the street. They are right there. <em>Right there</em>. Barefoot. Shivering in just a t-shirt. Beez stares and Aziraphale tries to subtly shake his head at them, eyes wide. A desperate request to please not approach. Maintain distance. Be discreet. Protect themself. They dart their eyes away. Pretend they are checking their phone. That they are waiting for someone. Gabriel nudges Aziraphale toward a dark sedan parked on the street and Aziraphale climbs inside. As Gabriel rounds the car and turns his back to Beez they snap their eyes up, point to their phone and then to their heart and Aziraphale almost slumps over with relief. Crowley is on his way.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time they meet for an interview it is in one of those vintage motels up on Lincoln Ave. One of those holdovers from the 1950's, still barely hanging on after the introduction of the interstate system. She crosses her legs and watches him close the blinds. Her face is neutral but her stomach is in knots. This is a risk. A big one. And not just to her career. She's seen what can happen to those that don't fall into line. Mind their own business.</p><p>He sits across from her at the rickety table and hits record.</p><p>"So.."</p><p>She reaches out and turns the little silver recorder off. “You didn't say anything about recording this.”</p><p>“It's just for today. When we finish here, I'll transcribe the interview and delete the file.”</p><p>She narrows her eyes at him. “And if someone picks you off between here and home?” It is harsh but he should know the risk to himself too. What exactly he is getting himself into.  </p><p>“Password protected and set to auto delete after 12 hours. I promise I can protect you.”</p><p>She laughs. “No one can protect me.”</p><p>He reaches for the recorder again. “May I?”</p><p>Her lip twitches but she waves a hand in the air. Dismissive approval. He hits the red button again and a dark circle appears on the little digital screen. “Tell me why you’re here.”</p><p>“Because I'm tired of looking the other way while their pockets fill up with dirty money. I'm tired of watching murderers and traffickers and dealers and pimps walk while people that were dealt a shitty hand just get ground down into the dirt even more.” She scrunches her nose.  “And I'm tired of them dismissing me. They think they're untouchable. I want them to know that they aren't. And I want people to know that even in this shit stain of a city, there are still a few good cops left.”</p><p>He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair. “And you're one of them?”</p><p>She inspects her nails. Avoids eye contact. “I try to be.”</p><p>“And can you confirm that Gabriel O'Connor is at the center of all this.”</p><p>She narrows her eyes. "Yes."</p><p>-</p><p>“Is it done?”</p><p>“Yeah, it's done.”</p><p>“Did you...” Crowley takes a deep breath. Cuts off a truck in the left lane. The driver flips him the bird and he can see him shouting at him as he disappears in his rearview. “Were you close? Is he ok?”</p><p>“He wasn't hurt. That I could see.”</p><p>“Did Gabriel see you?”</p><p>“If he did he didn't remember me. It's been a long, long time since we last met. Probably not since we were like... 17.”</p><p>“Good, good. Which way are they heading?”</p><p>Beez rolls their chair back up to their desk and pops open the tracking app. “I've got them going south.” They trace the little blinking icon as it moves slowly across the map. “Do you want me to stay with you or just send the data to your phone?”</p><p>Crowley knows it is a mistake to be alone with his thoughts right now. “No. No stay with me. Please.”</p><p>“Where are you now?”</p><p>“On 90, not far from home now.”</p><p>“Ok...” Beez scans the map. “By the looks of things you’re going to want to get on 55 going south. I thought for sure he'd head to the south side, but it looks like he's on his way out of the city.”<br/>
“Got it. How's traffic looking?”</p><p>“Not great, but not bad. Congestion near the loop, but that’s nothing unusual. Depending on how you drive you might be able to cut west through the city and avoid the worst of it. Ogden through Lawndale maybe? Jump onto 50?”</p><p>Crowley chews it over. Runs through his mental maps. “Fuck Beez, I don't know. I think it might be faster to risk 90. No stoplights. Or pedestrians. Avoid the medical district.”</p><p>Beez exhales. “You need to drive dirty then.”</p><p>“Only way I know how.”  </p><p>“He's got at least 20 minutes on you. Even with the way you drive.”</p><p>Crowley's guts twist. He knows the implication. That he may be too late. That even if everything else goes perfectly, it might not matter. He shouldn't have left. He shouldn't have walked away this morning. He shouldn't... He quiets the voice in his head. Hears Aziraphale's instead. Let's it guide him. <em>This kind of defeatist thinking isn't doing anyone any favors. No one could have expected it to happen this quickly. At least no one else was around. At least Fern is safe. Gabriel is too proud and too cruel to end things quickly. There is still time. There is still hope.</em></p><p>-</p><p>Gabriel drags Aziraphale out of the car by his collar and shoves him forward. “Get moving.” They are in an industrial area. Still within the city limits, but just barely. They are at a building that is under construction. It is a Sunday though, no workers on site. Only the looming shell of a warehouse in front of him. Tall grey walls and a long line of empty loading docks. Gabriel points toward a door near the end closest to them. “There.” Aziraphale walks slowly. Hands visible at all times. “You know, I should have stuck around. Made sure you bled out that day. Would have saved me a world of trouble.”</p><p>Aziraphale doesn't respond. He needs time. If he antagonizes Gabriel he might not have the luxury.</p><p>“You know. I have to admit. Threw me for a loop. I was the closest match to that DNA sample. You weren't exactly in the system. Results said it had to have come from a close relative. Probably a sibling. Got me thinking. So I did a little digging. You weren't hard to find. I mean, I never could forget your smug little boyfriend.” He spits the words out like they disgust him. “He practically lived in our basement. Don't even want to think what you guys were up to every night in my own house.”</p><p>Aziraphale can’t help but smirk. Gabriel really didn't want to know. He’d like to tell him. In great detail. To rub it in his face.</p><p>“Easy as anything to track him down. And imagine my surprise when I pulled up outside and there you were. In the flesh. Having a little lovers’ quarrel. You really ought to keep your doors locked. Never know what the cat might drag in.”</p><p>They enter the dim warehouse and continue walking. The floors aren't finished. Just a rough foundation with rebar sticking up every few feet. Ahead of them is a roughed in space. Four walls. Maybe an office or storage closet. Gabriel gestures to it. “In there.”</p><p> As Aziraphale crosses the threshold into the little room he slowly comes to a realization. A lovers’ quarrel? He and Crowley had argued last night. When Aziraphale had found out Crowley had been running surveillance on his own. Had followed Gabriel without back-up. Gabriel only just found out <em>last night</em>. He hasn't had time... Surely he hasn't had time to look into things. To know what he does. To know who he is. He couldn't contain his impulses. Couldn't wait to exact his version of justice. Aziraphale has the upper hand. He has no idea the information that he has access to. How much information is getting dumped at this exact moment. He thinks he will be safe as long as he takes Aziraphale out.</p><p>His train of thought is cut off abruptly as he feels the cool embrace of cuffs on one wrist. He doesn't resist. Let's Gabriel snap them around the other. They click rapidly into place until they are digging into the skin at his wrists painfully. A sharp kick to the back of his knee and Aziraphale goes down face first, only just managing to avoid landing on a piece of rebar. Gabriel continues as he struggles to get his knees under him to sit up.</p><p>“You know… I think when I’m done here I’ll go back for your boyfriend. To be honest I was hoping he’d be there this morning. Could have dropped him in front of you that way. I suppose you’ll just have to die knowing that he’s going to suffer for your sins. And then you can both burn in hell together.”</p><p>Aziraphale sneers. “<em>Husband</em>.”</p><p>Without warning Gabriel whips him across the face with the handgun. Aziraphale feels his lip split and his mouth begin to fill up with blood. His jaw throbs. Gabriel laughs as Aziraphale spits blood onto the ground between his knees. “Oh man did that feel good! Not so fucking smug now, are we?” Gabriel squats in front of him and grabs him by the hair. “You know. I don’t have a lot of time here. So here’s the deal. You can answer my questions quickly and die quickly or you can fuck around and feel what it is to suffer. Understand?”</p><p>Aziraphale only glares up at him. He can feel blood dripping out of his nose and onto his shirt. Gabriel stands and in a moment that feels like déjà vu his boot meets Aziraphale’s stomach. In an instant he is back in that alley. Trying desperately to suck in air only for his lungs to refuse to cooperate. For his diaphragm to freeze up. Only this time his hands are cuffed behind his back. He can’t do anything to try to protect himself. He can’t even try to press up off the ground where he has crumpled. He grits his teeth and wheezes. If this is what it takes to buy time, until Crowley can get here, then this is how it will have to be.</p><p>“Where is the money, Aziraphale? Where is the money and where is the girl?” He pictures Fern’s face in the moment that Crowley first crawled into the car with her still clinging to his neck. Her big round eyes and wild hair and dirty cheeks. His brain flits to that moment that he walked in and found her wrapped up safe and tight in Crowley’s arms. Warm and clean and loved. And the memory fortifies him.</p><p>He sucks in a breath and spits out the words in a red mist. “Fuck you.”</p><p>“Wrong answer.” This time Gabriel’s foot makes contact with his ribs and he cries out as he hears them crack under the force for a second time. He knows Gabriel is doing this purposefully. This is a special kind of cruelty. Making him relive this moment. Making fear and shame and anger his last moment. Finishing what he started.</p><p>“We’re going to find her. And the money. You might as well just save yourself some pain and tell me now.”</p><p>Aziraphale coughs blood out onto the unfinished floor. He is pretty sure it is from in his mouth, and not his lungs, but he can’t be sure. Not really. He mumbles against the concrete and Gabriel leans down and wrenches him up by his hair. Drags him all the way up to standing. His ribs screaming. His face still throbbing. Gabriel leans close, lip quirked up. “I can’t hear you. Speak up.”</p><p>Aziraphale lifts his head. Struggles to suck down a breath then spits blood into Gabriel’s face. He leans away and releases his grip on Aziraphale’s hair. Wipes the blood off of his cheek and snarls. “Big fucking mistake.” He reaches into a small pouch attached to his belt and draws out a small switchblade. Nothing fancy. Small black handle. Small reflective blade that makes a quiet whoosh as it slides out of its hidden sheath. Before Aziraphale can react he lunges forward and plunges it into his inner thigh, high up near his groin, and steps back. Aziraphale stares down at the small knife sticking out of his leg. It hardly even hurts. His ribs demand far more of his attention. His pant leg starts to slowly turn dark. He stumbles and falls backward onto his ass, still staring at it. He knows the score. He’s taken an anatomy class. The knife is sitting in his femoral artery. If Gabriel pulls it out he’ll bleed out in minutes without a tourniquet and air evac. Even with the knife plugging the wound he is already bleeding heavily. He looks up at Gabriel. He knew this was his intention. But he didn’t expect it to feel like such a betrayal.</p><p>-</p><p>“What do you mean he’s crawling onto someone’s balcony? What the fuck is he doing?” She leans back in her chair with the phone pressed against her ear. “Jesus Christ. Ok, well, tail him and keep me updated. Anything else suspicious let me know, but under no circumstances should you approach, do you hear me? Follow and report only.” She hangs up the phone and thinks. Picks up the file again and looks at the report.</p><p>It has been four years since Solomon was murdered. Bound and shot execution style in his own home. She hadn’t been the one to find him. That had been someone else’s privilege. She also wasn’t the first officer on the scene. She had hesitated when the call came in. Hesitated isn’t quite the right word. She had been paralyzed. She couldn’t have responded if she’d wanted to. It was her greatest regret in life. That she had choked and he had gotten there first. Had covered up his tracks using the system that she was trying desperately to use to bring him down.</p><p>When she’d found that photo in records something had clicked into place. The snake. The inside angle. The links between the jobs. She didn’t have all of the pieces, but she had an inclination. And she did something else she was sure she would regret. She called up Gabriel O’Connor and asked him to stop by the station. Asked for any information they had on the Reaper over in his district. And while he waited in her office she popped a tracker on his cruiser. And he’d been on her radar again ever since.</p><p>-</p><p>Crowley pulls up to the warehouse quietly. He’s spent the last fifteen minutes driving like a maniac. Pushing his car to twice the speed limit. Passing traffic on the shoulder, his tires screaming against the rumble strips there. He forced that little black car into spaces that wouldn’t have left room for the holy ghost at either bumper. Beez stayed with him. Quiet most of the time. They were on the horn with their connection at the Tribune. Adam Young was downloading all of the files at this very moment. Was already hitting the button to publish his first installment. The links between the vigilante’s jobs. All of those wealthy, upstanding citizens paying cash to cover up their dirty deeds. That money going right into the pocket of the archangel himself. He would rush through the documents and drop the second installment tonight and he would share all of the raw docs too. Make sure that someone wouldn’t get it in their head that taking him out would silence the story.</p><p>“Beez, I’m going to have to go radio silence. I don’t have an earpiece with me. I’ll keep you in my pocket on mute.”</p><p>“Crowley?”</p><p>He climbs out of the car and closes the door gently. Doesn’t let it latch all the way. “Yeah Beez?”</p><p>“Good luck out there. Bring him home.”</p><p>“I will, Beez. If it is the last thing I do.” His feet crunch across the gravel. Gabriel’s car is parked near the building. As he passes by he runs his hand under the rear bumper until it hits a familiar shape. He pulls the tracker from its place and sticks it in his pocket then scans the inside of the car. It is empty. Tidy. He crouches and hurries to the entrance. Peeks around the doorframe into the empty expanse inside. He can’t see them anywhere. A piercing cry breaks the silence of the warehouse and echoes off the walls. <em>Oh God. Aziraphale.</em> He knows he should be careful. Quiet. Maintain the upper hand. But as has always been the case, he can’t seem to control himself when Aziraphale is in pain. Just like when he lunged at the EMTs in the alley. Or when he shouted at the nurses in Aziraphale’s recovery room. He can’t help but react.</p><p>He sprints across the empty warehouse floor towards the small walled off space in the far corner. He rounds the corner in time to see Gabriel step back and Aziraphale stumble and fall backward. He watches in horror as Aziraphale stares down at his leg, mouth open. Blood dripping down his chin. He watches that dark spot spread outward rapidly from the short black handle sticking out of his leg. Aziraphale looks up at Gabriel and there is no anger there. There is pain. Sadness. Surprise. But no anger. That is ok. Crowley has enough anger for both of them. Aziraphale’s eyes shift over Gabriel’s shoulder. His eyes catch Crowley’s. He blinks once. Twice. Scrunches his brow like he is afraid he might be hallucinating.</p><p>Gabriel follows his gaze. Turns around just in time to catch a fist to his jaw. Aziraphale laughs as Gabriel hits the floor and stares up at Crowley. “Big fucking mistake.”</p><p>Crowley’s rage was already a flickering flame. Watching Gabriel plunge that knife into his husband was like a hot wind whipping him into an unstoppable inferno. Gabriel reaches for his gun, tucked back into his waistband, but before his fingers can get there Crowley is on top of him. He gets a fist on his shirt and the other makes impact with his nose. As Gabriel reels, Crowley reaches behind him and snatches the gun out of where it is nestled away. He pops the bullet out of the chamber and releases the clip. Sticks it in his pocket and tosses the gun into the distance. He pummels him again and Gabriel falls onto his back. Crowley straddles him and pulls his chest up off the ground by the lapels. “A quick death is too good for a piece of shit like you.” His hands slip off of his shirt and he shifts his knees so they pin his arms against the floor. Then he wraps his fingers around his throat and squeezes. His busted knuckles scream, but he ignores them. Lets the skin split wider.</p><p>Gabriel’s eyes go wide as Crowley cuts off his airflow, thumbs pressing into the soft place beneath his adam’s apple. He struggles beneath him. Crowley only stares down. Teeth clenched. Eyes wild. Arms shaking with the effort. Gabriel’s legs thrash as he tries to throw Crowley off of him. His hands scramble to try to get a grip on his clothes. Anything at all.</p><p>As his movements get weaker, quieter, Aziraphale coughs, his head lolls. “Anthony…” Crowley only squeezes his hands tighter. “Anthony, enough.”</p><p>Crowley leans down close to Gabriel’s face as he starts to lose consciousness. He releases his fingers just enough for Gabriel to suck in half a breath. “Not a word or Luke will find out it was you who stole from him. And you’re going to need his protection in the pen. You’re dead without it. Understand?” Gabriel only stares as Crowley squeezes again. “Understand?!” He manages half a nod before his eyes flutter closed and his body stills.</p><p>“AJ…” his voice is weak. Crowley wrenches his hands away and sits back on his heels panting. His eyes snap up. The pool around Aziraphale’s leg is growing larger by the second. He scrambles up over Gabriel’s lifeless body and reaches out. Puts pressure on his thigh.</p><p>“Hold on, baby. I’ve got you.”</p><p>Aziraphale nods toward Gabriel. “His keys.” He lifts his shoulders a little.</p><p>Crowley scrambles away again, digs in his pocket and fumbles the little set of keys out then skitters back across the floor to uncuff Aziraphale’s hands. There are raw bloody rings around both wrists. Crowley doesn’t have time to worry, he takes both of Aziraphale’s hands in his own and presses them down onto his thigh above the place where the little knife is protruding.</p><p>“Press here. Hard. Harder.” Aziraphale winces as he squeezes against his own leg. Crowley slips his belt out of the loops and slips it under Aziraphale’s leg. Pulls the end through the buckle and pauses. Aziraphale catches his eye and nods. Crowley’s voice trembles. “I’m sorry.” He yanks the belt tight around Aziraphale’s leg.</p><p>“Fuck! Fuck, fuck!” Aziraphale’s face is pale. His hands are shaking. Sweat gathers at his brow despite the cold air.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Come on. We have to go. Now. We need to get to hospital. They can’t find us here.” Aziraphale nods while he whimpers. Crowley gets one of his arms up over his shoulder and pulls Aziraphale up to his feet.</p><p>Aziraphale inhales sharply and grabs at his ribs. “He…” he’s having a hard time breathing. Feels dizzy. Faint. “…my ribs. Again…”</p><p>Crowley winces. Curses quietly. “I’m sorry, Zira. This is going to hurt. We need to go though. They are on the way and we need to move.” He wraps his arm tightly around Aziraphale’s waist, and drags him along quickly. Aziraphale stumbles and wheezes and cries but manages to stay standing. Crowley mumbles apologies the entire way to his car.</p><p>In the car he pulls his phone out and sticks it on the center console. Unmutes Beez. “I’ve got him. We’re going. How far out are they?” He shifts into reverse and swings the car in a wide arc before throwing gravel in his wake as he tears out of the lot.</p><p>“ETA two minutes.” Crowley can hear the sirens in the distance. “They‘re coming in from the east. You’re going to want to cut west and then north.”</p><p>In the passenger seat Aziraphale’s head drops forward and then snaps back up. “AJ… I think…” His eyes close and open again slowly.</p><p>Crowley shifts and reaches out to take Aziraphale’s chin in his hand. “Stay with me. Don’t go to sleep, ok? You can do this.” Aziraphale struggles to keep his eyes open. His blood is soaking into the custom upholstery. “Beez. We need a hospital.”</p><p>“North on Harlem then cut back east on 34<sup>th</sup>.You’ll run right into it.” Crowley barely manages to make the exit.</p><p>Aziraphale turns to him. Eyes clear blue pools. Crowley wraps his fingers around his jaw. Runs his thumb under his eye and wipes a tear that has spilled onto his cheek. “We’re almost there. Four minutes. That’s it.” Aziraphale’s head lolls again. “Aziraphale! Zira, baby, please. Just stay with me.” </p><p>Aziraphale can feel his pulse weakening. His ribs aren’t screaming at him anymore. All that he can really feel is the quiet echo of his heartbeat in his thigh and the warmth that is still spreading there. He stares at Crowley as his vision blurs. “I’m sorry…”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh god, I'm sorry for another cliffhanger. Don't go all Crowley on me!</p><p>If you need a little happy, I also just posted a new Deleted Scene for Love Thy Neighbor!<br/><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28857723"><strong>Love Thy Neighbor Deleted Scenes</strong></a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Three years later</em>
</p><p>Crowley stares out at the desert. It is quiet out here. No one else for miles. The sun is setting and the horizon feels so far away. And so expansive. Growing up in the city the horizon always felt close. Even watching the sun come up over the lake felt intimate. And when it set there was always an obstruction. Buildings and trees and signs that would obscure your view. Here though is just a flat expanse. He takes a long swig of his beer and leans on the railing until the sun finally sinks that last tiny bit and disappears entirely. Swallowed up by the desert. The heat here isn’t like the heat in the Chicago. Back there, in that grand midwestern city, the heat sinks into the concrete landscape. It gets trapped. Even outside of the city, in the summertime, the heat sticks around all night. Sky black as onyx and you’re still sweating. Here the heat follows the sun. Sleeps for the night and wakes up in the morning again.</p><p>Crowley lets the chill set in around him. Goosebumps peak on his arms. His hair standing tall away from his skin in some evolutionary holdover to stay warm. It is getting dark fast. All of the scrub grass and sage and juniper disappearing into the night. No light pollution to illuminate the dim shapes. He stands and watches for a long time. Until he can hardly see the desert in front of him at all. Eventually he turns and walks back into the humble little house. Sets a pot of water on the stove to boil and opens another beer. He cooks up some cheap pasta. Tosses it with butter and sage and a squeeze of lemon juice. Cracks black pepper over the top and eats standing at the counter. The sage is perfectly crisp. The pasta is perfectly al dente, although he would have preferred to have made it from scratch. That’s not the kind of thing he does just for himself, though. So from a box will suffice.</p><p>He settles into the little lofted bedroom suspended above the small kitchen and sitting room. Curls his legs up underneath of him. The pitched roof is too short for him to stand. Every time he climbs up the little ladder he has to hunch. Like he is broken in the middle. He takes the leather journal from the bedside table and begins to write. Then to sketch. At some point he connects his phone to the little Bluetooth speaker downstairs and The Velvet Underground fills the small space. <em>Pale Blue Eyes</em> comes on, that gentle tambourine leading, and he skips to the next song.</p><p>He crawls down the tiny ladder and glances at the clock. It is well past midnight. He’d gotten caught up. Lost in his head. This is normal. He cracks open another beer and steps back out onto the little square deck. Looks up and gasps. Directly over his head is the densest band of stars that he has ever seen. A frothy arm winding across the sky. The milky way. He’s never seen it before. He wishes that Aziraphale were here. That he could see this. He runs his hand through his hair. Exhales. He should sleep. He has work to do tomorrow.</p><p>-</p><p>
  <em>Now</em>
</p><p>Crowley pulls into the ambulance dock and jumps out of the car, shouting for help as he makes his way to the passenger side door. He has Aziraphale halfway out of the front seat by the time the first emergency room doctors and nurses make it to his side. He stumbles backward. Falls on the pavement and watches in shock as they drag him out onto a stretcher and begin chest compressions. A nurse intubates him as they rush him through the sliding doors.</p><p>As soon as Aziraphale is out of sight he loses all composure. Hangs his head between his knees and sobs. Aziraphale had stared him right in the eye, said sorry, and slumped forward in his seat. Crowley shouted at him over and over. Begged him to wake up. He'd grabbed his wrist and couldn't feel a pulse. And in that instant he’d felt a chapter end. Who he was a moment ago was no longer who he was now. Before and after. Two different lives.</p><p>As he sits on the pavement he hears his name. Quiet. Far off. He lifts his head and listens and eventually it clicks. He crawls back into the car, over the puddle in the passenger seat, and picks up his phone.</p><p>“AJ, please, talk to me. What's happening?”</p><p>Crowley lets his head hang. “Beez, can you get here? Can... I need...” He can't get his thoughts out. He keeps hearing Aziraphale’s apology in his head. Over and over and over again.</p><p>“I'm already on my way. Anathema too. We'll be there soon.” Beez inhales audibly. Exhales. “AJ... How is he?”</p><p>“He... Beez, I couldn't find a pulse. I couldn't...”</p><p>Beez sniffs. “Oh God. AJ hold on. Ten minutes. I'll be there in ten minutes.” Crowley can hear Beez badgering the Lyft driver. Demanding that they drive faster. That it is an emergency.</p><p>Crowley cradles the phone next to his face for a minute longer then hangs up. Security comes to make him move his car. He’s blocking the bay if any ambulances need to pull up. And he is so defeated he does it. No argument. No glares. Nothing. He closes the passenger side door and climbs in the other side and drives in aimless circles until he finds an open spot and stares through his windshield until Beez calls him again.</p><p>They find him in the parking structure and have to turn away from what they see in the passenger seat. For the second and final time in their life they say a prayer as they stare at the pavement between their feet. Crowley doesn't move. Even when Beez begs him to. To please come inside with them. To find out what is happening. Crowley doesn’t want to consider the possibility. As long as he sits here, he doesn’t have to know. As long as he sits here he doesn’t have to face reality. Eventually Anathema arrives to find Crowley in the front seat and Beez sitting cross legged on the ground next to him with their head in their hands. She doesn't turn away from the passenger seat. She can't. She is doing mental calculations. Pints and time and transfusions. She grabs Crowley's face and turns him to look her in the eye and tells him what he needs to hear.</p><p>“There is still hope.“</p><p>-</p><p>
  <em>Three years later</em>
</p><p>In the morning he scrubs the sleep from his eyes and brushes his teeth and pulls on his boots and stomps out the door. He shrugs the denim button up on over his thin grey t-shirt as he starts up the truck. A little vintage Toyota SR5. 1983. Sand beige. Lifted. Manual. He’s spent the better part of the past three years fixing it up. Rebuilding it from the shocks up. It doesn’t handle like the Supra used to, but it’s great for the desert. The 33 inch wheels can handle the washboard roads and the bedrock and the sand and the million and one things that want to leave him stranded in the middle of nowhere. He pulls away from the humble little a-frame and the truck rumbles toward the interstate as the sun peeks over the horizon. </p><p>It takes longer to hit the pavement than it does to actually get into town. He steps out of the truck and stretches his legs and grabs coffee from the corner store. A little hippie place with organic produce and beehives on the roof. He packs a little paper bag with a blueberry scone and a danish and an almond croissant and climbs back into his truck. He checks the clock. He’s early. He drives anyway. Pulls into the lot and takes out his phone while he takes a bite of the scone. It is fresh. Still warm. The blueberries are sweet and pop between his teeth.</p><p>He is still staring at his phone when someone knocks on the passenger side window. He startles and nearly spills his coffee all over the seats. “Fuck!” He glares at the window, leans over and opens the door. “You scared the shit out of me! You were supposed to text when you landed.”</p><p>Aziraphale laughs. “I needed to stretch my legs.” He climbs in and leans across the gear shift to kiss Crowley. “Miss me?”</p><p>Crowley smiles. Kisses him a second time. “Terribly.” He hands him the little bag of pastries and Aziraphale bounces in his seat.</p><p>“Ooh, they are still warm. I love that place. They do the <em>best…</em>” he opens the bag and squeals, “almond croissants! God you know me too well.”</p><p>“Coffee too.” He gestures to the cupholder.</p><p>Aziraphale takes a careful sip. “Oh god, I needed this. That flight left so early.” Crowley pulls carefully out of the parking lot.</p><p>“I grabbed the essentials yesterday, but I thought we could grab some groceries. There’s a farmer’s market today too. We’ll want to stock up for a few days in case we can’t make it back into town.”</p><p>“By essentials do you mean beer?”</p><p>He smiles. “And cheese. And watermelon.”</p><p>“Very nutritious.” Crowley laughs as he drives toward the market.</p><p>As usual they buy far too much. They pack the cooler to the brim, filling every inch of space that surrounds the large blocks of ice that Crowley picked up on his way to the airport. They stock up on all of the basics they would get at home but with a little local flavor. Some hatch chiles and pinyon nuts and prickly pear fruits that they will make into margaritas. Squash blossoms and blue corn and elk steaks.</p><p>Aziraphale buys fry bread and nibbles at it as they drive into the desert. “How was the drive down?”</p><p>Crowley passes an eighteen-wheeler and moves back over into the right lane. “Long. Boring.”</p><p>“I’m sorry I couldn’t drive down with you. I couldn’t get someone to cover the shop until today. We should be moving enough money to hire a full time manager, though, and then I’ll be able to get away more often.”</p><p>Crowley reaches out and puts his hand on Aziraphale’s knee. “It’s ok. You’re here now. That’s what matters. The solitude was nice, too, I suppose. A little quiet before…” He trails off and Aziraphale nods knowingly.</p><p>They stop at the little a-frame first and drop off their bounty. Aziraphale splashes water on his face and changes his shirt and smiles at Crowley as he unpacks his own little leather bound journal and sticks it on the arm of the couch. Initials on the corner. <em>AZC</em>.</p><p>They pile back into the truck, the cooler re-packed with water and sliced watermelon and pre-made sandwiches from the farmer’s market and a six pack of local beer. They roll to a stop outside of a partially constructed structure. A wide concrete rectangle with wooden frame sides. And another smaller matching rectangle several meters off to the side. The back of the house is completely transparent. A giant pane of glass that looks out over the vast desert landscape. The wood framed sides are being covered in corten steel, rustic and rugged and weathered to a red coppery finish so that they blend into the colors of the plateau.</p><p>Their contractor emerges from the bright, empty interior. “Mr.’s Crowley! So good to see you again!” She walks them around the property. Points out areas that are in progress. Shows them the deck that has just recently been installed. Inside they sit on the ground and Crowley pulls out his little notebook and shares his sketches. She makes adjustments to her plans. They discuss the guest suite. The layout of the main house. The pipes that run across the roof in hidden tracts to heat the water. Aziraphale makes specific requests for the kitchen and hands her an invoice for the wood burning stove that will be the centerpiece of the living room. She spreads out tile samples and paint chips and cabinet colors on the floor from their previous visit and they hem and haw and snap photos and send them to Beez for a vote. When the reply comes in they make their final decisions and put their trust in her.</p><p>As the contractor gathers her supplies the solar guys show up and Crowley and Aziraphale sit down for another meeting. They are only able to be in the area for a week. They have to jam everything in now. While they are here. They have a dozen meetings lined up and in the meantime Crowley wants to get started on the garden. It is completely foreign, desert landscaping. He is used to trees and green and grass and gardens overflowing with produce. He’s made an appointment with a local nursery and in the afternoon he will meet with their landscape artist to plan and to purchase and in the morning they will begin delivering and he will get to work. He wants to do it with his own two hands and blood and sweat. He wants to make something beautiful.</p><p>-</p><p>In the evening they retire to their little rental down the road and crack open the beers that they didn’t share with vendors and laborers. They cook up those elk steaks and Aziraphale stuffs and fries the squash blossoms and they gorge themselves as the sun sets and turns the sky pink and orange and purple. They take their beers out onto the little deck and curl up under a blanket and sit quietly until the last ray of sunshine blinks out and the sky starts to turn dark.</p><p>Crowley turns and catches the edge of Aziraphale’s lips with his mouth. Grins at him. “Want to fuck me in the kitchen?”</p><p>Aziraphale laughs. “You have no idea.” They stand and Aziraphale pulls Crowley close with the blanket that is draped over his shoulders. He smiles as he kisses him. Shivers as Crowley’s cool fingers creep up under his t-shirt and squeeze his hips. They linger. Wrapped up together in the soft blanket. The stars blinking into life above them. Kissing slowly. Pulling each other close. Too many times they’ve been on the brink of everything falling apart. Too many times <em>they</em> have fallen apart. But they prop each other up and rebuild one another and together they are unstoppable.</p><p>By the time they make it into the warm kitchen their kisses are less slow. More consuming. The blanket falls away at the threshold and it is the first in a long line of cotton and linen and denim and wool. A river of textile that leads inside. Aziraphale falls to his knees in front of Crowley. Kisses the soft places on his belly. Sucks at the hard places at his hips. Digs his fingers into his flesh and wraps his lips around him and takes him apart with his mouth.</p><p>He lifts Crowley onto the counter and opens him up and plunges into him slowly while Crowley wraps his legs around his waist and digs his toes into his behind and urges him to take him. Harder and faster and rougher. But Aziraphale doesn’t bend. He takes his time. Loves him slow and deep and gentle until they are both reduced to breathy moans and single syllables and their chests and cheeks and throats are painted pink with flush. Until Aziraphale fills his palms with Crowley’s thighs and lifts him off the counter and topples backward onto the couch and Crowley can finally take him how he wants. Only now what he wants is still slow and deep and gentle and as they finally come together he has tears spilling over his cheeks.</p><p>Aziraphale wipes at his face as he holds him tight. “Is everything ok? What kind of tears are these?”</p><p>Crowley laughs gently. Sniffs. “I’m sorry, I’m fine. I just…” He laughs again. Embarrassed. His voice cracks when he speaks again. “I just love you.” He swallows. “I missed you.”</p><p>Aziraphale kisses the top of his head. “I missed you too.”</p><p>-</p><p>
  <em>Now</em>
</p><p>Aziraphale was in surgery for a long time. Or at least it felt like a long time. An eternity. At least this time around the doctors talk to Crowley. They interrupt his frantic pacing and let him know that it was touch and go for a while, but they managed to resuscitate Aziraphale and repair the severed artery. He has two broken ribs and he needed stitches in his lip. Everything else is superficial. They have given him a blood transfusion but he is weak. He will need time.</p><p>This time it is Anathema that drags Crowley to a sink and cleans his hands and strips his clothes and dresses him and throws away everything stained. Then she calls Tracy and has her put Fern on the phone and he clasps a hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs as she tells him all about her road trip. He wishes that she could be here. He wipes his nose and his eyes and he tells her that Aziraphale is sleeping, but she should say hi to him anyway and as she does Aziraphale’s eyes flutter and dart around behind his lids and Crowley hopes that his dreams are sweet and not filled with fear.</p><p>The sun has set. Crowley has pulled a seat up close to the hospital bed and he rests his head on the edge of it. He holds Aziraphale’s hand loosely. Traces the lines that criss cross his palm with his thumb. He is drifting somewhere close to sleep when someone steps into the room. He sits up and scrubs his hand over his face, expecting a nurse. Instead he sees Captain Michaels. He bristles. He isn’t sure who to trust.</p><p>She walks slowly into the room and picks up Aziraphale’s chart from the end of the hospital bed. Crowley watches her carefully. Poises himself to move if he needs to.  </p><p>“A.Z. Fell.” She pauses. Scans the sheet in front of her.  “Funny thing. Today we had a dirty cop served up on a silver platter. Mountains of evidence dropped right in our lap. Few years back this same cop lost his little brother. Suspicious incident really. I mean, who would pummel the poor kid so badly right smack dab in the middle of his brother’s beat? Ended up with a ruptured spleen. Internal bleeding. Emergency surgery. Docs fixed him up real good but the unlucky guy got an infection. Went septic. Died. His name was Aziraphale.” She blows air out of her nose.</p><p>Crowley swallows but he keeps his mouth shut. “And now this poor kid.” She gestures to the bed. “Officer A.Z. Fell. Ends up in a hospital on the southwest side just a few minutes from where that dirty cop was found. Lots of blood on the scene. Too much to come from the dirty cop. Whoever else was there must have severed an artery.” She looks up at Crowley. “You know… I don’t think they could have survived. We’ll run the sample through the system, of course. But I doubt anything will come up.”</p><p>Crowley can only stare at her as she closes the chart and hangs it back on the end of his bed. “Whoever dumped that evidence did a good job. Thorough. Might be hard to believe, but it wasn’t too long ago that someone else tried to do something similar.” Her face flashes with something. Grief. Sorrow. She looks up and makes eye contact with Crowley. “He didn’t get so lucky.” She blinks a few times. Takes a deep breath. “His partner wasn’t able to save him. But she sure is glad that he is finally getting justice.” She walks toward the door. Pauses in the threshold as Crowley stares after her. “Thank you, Mr. Crowley. And tell Aziraphale thank you too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Phew! Who else is ready for four chapters of fluff? (Slight correction. 3.5 chapters including the second half of this one!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Three Years Later</em>
</p>
<p>At the end of the week Crowley has a newfound appreciation for the desert. For that fragile ecosystem. So delicate yet unforgiving. For the plants that grow there, wild and lush despite the environment. For all of the animals that skitter on their bellies or burrow into the sediment or bound across the landscape. He feels an affinity for them all. They are kindred spirits. Born into trial and hardship. But stronger for it. Resilient. This feels like a place that he and Aziraphale can make into a home.</p>
<p>As he toils in his new desert garden he learns as much about the wild plants that grow here as the ones that he is planting. He wants to cultivate them too. He chats with the day laborers and the builders and the skilled professionals that work on the house. Learns that he can take this plant and turn it into tea. That it can be used to treat hay fever and the common cold. That the berries on that bush taste like lemonade. And that if he breaks down the fibers in that plant over there he can turn it into a basket. One of the workers brings him just such a basket from his truck. Shallow and wide and colorful, and Crowley buys it from him and when the walls are finished, it is the first thing that he hangs up. Over the years it will be joined by many more. All with a story.</p>
<p>He and Aziraphale come to respect the desert. Their skin turns pink and their noses bleed in the arid environment and their lips chap. And just when their bodies start to adjust they have to climb back onto a plane and come back to the humidity of the Midwest. When they step off of the plane it is 15 degrees cooler than it was when they stepped on, but the heat feels oppressive. Like a wet blanket draped over their shoulders. They stand in line for a rideshare and sweat through their clothes and when they step through their front door Crowley makes a beeline for the AC and cranks it. They take a long cool shower and they can’t keep their hands off of each other and they make love on the living room floor. And early in the morning they fuck against Crowley’s potting bench in the little greenhouse in their back yard.  Then they get into Crowley’s shiny new black BMW and drive south and park on the street and climb up the stairs and knock on the door like they’ve done a million times before.</p>
<p>Anathema smiles at them from the couch. She is sprawled backward, feet propped up on an ottoman, steaming mug of tea in her hand. A little blonde head pops up from behind her. Fern jumps up and races to the door and leaps into Crowley’s arms and he swings her in a circle. Hugs her tight. She kisses his cheek and then leans over to do the same to Aziraphale.</p>
<p>“Welcome back! How was the house?” Anathema shifts her weight around on the couch.</p>
<p>Aziraphale crosses the room and lifts her foot onto his lap to sit on the ottoman in front of her. “Gorgeous. Davina is doing a fantastic job. The exterior is almost finished. Windows are in. The guesthouse is framed out too. Solar and solar water are going in now. Anathema, we can’t wait to have you guys out there. You’re going to love it. All that woo woo desert shit. You’re going to feel right at home.”</p>
<p>She throws her head back and laughs. Crowley sways around the living room with Fern giggling. “My god, how long has it been since you’ve gone a week without seeing her? It had to have been…” She trails off and Aziraphale nods.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I think so.” He turns to Fern and Crowley. “How was your week, Peanut? What have you been up to?”</p>
<p>She hops down from Crowley’s arms and runs back to Anathema’s side and presses her hands against her belly. It is round and swollen and solid.  “I’ve been talking to my sisters. Telling them about you.”</p>
<p>Anathema grins. “You should hear the stories she is telling them.” She rubs her hand over her belly and sighs. Her face brightens. “Oh! They’re waking up, here!” She grabs Aziraphale’s hand and places it on her belly and his jaw drops.</p>
<p>Crowley kneels quickly and places his hand with theirs. He beams at Aziraphale and then back at Anathema. “Oh wow.”</p>
<p>“They are really active these days. And with two… Jesus there is always a foot in my ribs or something.”</p>
<p>Crowley puts his other hand with the first and leaves them there. “How are you feeling otherwise? Is there anything we can do? Besides for rubbing your feet every chance we get?” Aziraphale takes the hint and starts rubbing at her swollen ankles.</p>
<p>“Besides for feeling huge, I feel fine. All things considered. I’m out of breath all the time. But I just make Beez do everything for me.” She laughs.  “Doc says everything is progressing normally. Both of them are doing great. Strong. You guys know though, twins tend to come early. We’re getting close to that danger zone.” Crowley looks a little worried and Anathema laughs. “Not <em>danger zone </em>danger zone. I just mean, they could come at any time. I’m only 35 weeks. But before 38 is common.”</p>
<p>Fern looks up at Anathema. “They’re coming in thirteen days. They told me.”</p>
<p>Anathema smiles at Aziraphale and Crowley. “She’s always right, you know. Put it on your calendar now.” She does some quick mental math. “The girls’ birthday will be August 29. Virgos.” She gasps a little. “Oh my god that is perfect!” She points at Crowley. “Fire.” Then Aziraphale. “Air” Then Fern, “Water” and then at her belly “Earth.” Her eyes tear up and she laughs. “Sorry. Hormones.”</p>
<p>Crowley is tearing up too. Aziraphale bumps him with his shoulder. “What? Sympathy hormones!” He points a finger at her belly. “Those are my little Virgos in there!”</p>
<p>Aziraphale looks offended. “Hey! My little Virgos too! Just because it wasn’t my you-know-what,” he looks at Fern as he says it, “doesn’t mean they aren’t mine too.”</p>
<p>Fern fixes Crowley with a look. Her little brows pinched together. “Papa, be nice to daddy.”</p>
<p>Crowley sneaks a hand around Aziraphale’s waist. “I know, I know. Sorry Daddy. I’ll make it up to you later.”</p>
<p>He winks at him and Anathema laughs. “I’m sure you haven’t been doing that preemptively all week. Allll over the house too.” They grin sheepishly and Anathema laughs harder.</p>
<p>The door swings open and Beez walks in balancing a cardboard tray with four coffees and a box of pastries. Fern pops up and races across the room. “Beez!”</p>
<p>“Hey little monster. Do me a favor and take these over to your good for nothing dads.” They hand Fern the tray of coffees and she balances them carefully. Walks slowly. “I hope you two are kissing my wife’s feet right now. Do you know how many times she gets up to pee in the middle of the night? And she can’t just roll over. It’s a whole fucking ordeal.”</p>
<p>Anathema looks at Fern. “Remember what we said about the F-word?”</p>
<p>Fern nods. “Only when Papa and Daddy aren’t around.”</p>
<p>“Anathema!” Fern giggles at Aziraphale’s shock. He feels like the only one who censors himself in front of their child.</p>
<p>She climbs up into Crowley’s lap and he wraps his arms around her middle. Rests his chin on her head. “Thanks again for watching Fern while we were taking care of house stuff. You’re already doing so much for us.”</p>
<p>Beez drops the box on the coffee table and waves him away. “You know we love having her around. Any time. Really. Same goes when these two show up.” They sit down heavily next to Anathema and kiss her on the cheek.</p>
<p>“Plus, the practice is nice.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s jaw drops. “Are you two?” His eyes flit quickly between them.</p>
<p>Beez hedges Anathema’s words. “We’re <em>discussing</em> it. Don’t get your hopes up just yet. Anathema may change her mind after she pushes those two watermelons out.”</p>
<p>“At least after that I can breathe again. And go more than ten minutes without peeing. Speaking of which.” She sets her tea down and sticks her hands out toward Aziraphale. “Give me a hand here babe.” He grasps her hands and heaves her to her feet, Beez pushing from behind. “Fern, sweetie, be a doll and pick up your things before you go. And don’t forget Hastur and Ligur.” She turns toward Crowley. “Where does she come up with these names?” He only shrugs. Gestures around the room in an indication of the strange assortment of names present. “They’re in her room. At least I hope they are and there isn’t a frog and a chameleon wandering around in here somewhere.” She scans the space. Glances at the ceiling.</p>
<p>She waddles away and Beez distributes pastries. “So how long until the house is finished?”</p>
<p>Crowley shrugs again. “A few months at least. We’re hoping to spend Christmas there. If you two are interested. I can’t wait to see the desert in the snow.”</p>
<p>“And then what?”</p>
<p>“Then we split our time when we feel like it. We have a life here. Fern has school. But we need somewhere we can get away. Somewhere we can all relax. Be a family. Give Fern and the girls what we never had.”</p>
<p>“I’ll talk to Anathema, but Christmas sounds good.” They smirk. “You two really think you can handle flying with her and two newborns?”</p>
<p>Crowley laughs but it is nervous. “We’ll certainly have to learn to handle it the way this one books trips.” </p>
<p>Aziraphale smiles. “I told you I’d take you everywhere.” And he had. After things had settled and Aziraphale had healed and they had gotten Fern a new last name that began with a C and ended with a -rowley, they had stepped foot on a plane for the first time in their lives and the three of them held each other’s hands nervously and saw the world together. And then when they came back home they had that second wedding and bought a little bungalow on the north side and moved their growing number of Billy bookcases in and painted the walls and planted a garden and convinced Eve that it was ok to be a housecat. And then they got a frog and then a chameleon and then one night as they tucked Fern into bed and watched her drift off to sleep they decided that maybe their love could grow again and fit four instead of just three. And when they admitted to Anathema and Beez that they were thinking about finding a surrogate Anathema had insisted. And then that one little embryo turned out to be two little embryos and they would be five instead of four.</p>
<p>Were they ready for twins? Absolutely not. Did Aziraphale literally almost pass out when the ultrasound technician pointed out a second baby? Yes. And Crowley will never let him live it down. He will bring it up at every birthday and major life event and Aziraphale will smile and tug him close and laugh with him as he describes all of the color draining out of his face and his trembling hands as he reached for a chair.</p>
<p>Late in the morning they gather up Fern’s things, including her little critter keepers holding Hastur and Ligur, and load up the car. They promise to check on Anathema daily and Crowley insists on driving her to any appointments. <em>No way am I trusting some Lyft driver to get you there safely. </em>Before Fern crawls into the backseat she cups her hands on Anathema’s belly again and whispers to her sisters. They flutter and kick when they hear her voice.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>
  <em>Now</em>
</p>
<p>Crowley is asleep when Aziraphale finally wakes up. He had lost nearly two liters of blood on the floor of that warehouse and in Crowley’s front seat. He had gone into hemorrhagic shock. His body beginning to shut down as his heart struggled to pump. Much longer and the emergency crew wouldn’t have been able to resuscitate him. He doesn’t know any of this. When he wakes up the only thing he cares about is Crowley. He looks around the room. Finds Crowley curled up in the chair next to his bed. He’s wrapped up in a blanket. The sun is starting to rise, casting the room in a warm golden glow. It makes Crowley’s hair shimmer like fire. He wants to reach out and touch it. Run his fingers through it. He tries to lean forward and has to stop. Breathe. His ribs. Again. He is more annoyed than anything. He touches his abdomen. At least this time it is wrapped tightly. He feels secure. Held in.</p>
<p>When he tries to talk his throat is dry and scratchy. It comes out hoarse. “AJ…” He fumbles for the little remote that controls his bed. Presses the button to raise himself up to sitting. He tries his voice again. “AJ?”</p>
<p>Crowley’s eyes pop open and he sits up, blanket falling down onto his knees. He stands and it falls to the floor. In a single step he is at the bed. He is crying already. But smiling too. Grabbing at Aziraphale’s hand and leaning down to kiss his knuckles and then his face.</p>
<p>“Oh God. Aziraphale. Zira.” He sounds breathless. He keeps kissing him gently. Over and over. Runs his fingers through his hair and stares like he can’t believe what he is seeing.</p>
<p>Aziraphale closes his eyes and lets Crowley kiss him. Focuses on the touch of his lips. Feels alive. Safe. Nurtured. “Is it finished? Did it work?”</p>
<p>Crowley nods. “It’s finished. The story is blowing up. It’s all over the news. Every station. They arrested him.”</p>
<p>“And the others?”</p>
<p>Crowley finally pulls away, but keeps their fingers intertwined. “Suspended while they investigate. Gabriel is already singing though. He’s already taking them down with him.”</p>
<p>“Clients too?”</p>
<p>“Just other cops. He needs favors. He needs protection in jail. He won’t squeal on them. But they’ve got the evidence. They’ll go down too. Most of them, at least.”</p>
<p>“And the snake?”</p>
<p>Crowley grabs a cup of water from the table next to the bed and puts the straw to Aziraphale’s lips. “Turns out we might just have a guardian angel.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Two weeks later Tracy walks Fern through their front door by the hand. Tracy is worried. It has been hard for her to stay away. Crowley hugs her and then scoops up Fern and holds her tight. He kisses her hair.  Closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “Hey love. Missed you.” She wraps her legs around his waist and whispers into his ear and he hugs her even tighter. “He’s got a little owie, but he’s ok. Why don’t we go say hi? What do you say?” She nods and he ushers Tracy the rest of the way into their apartment.</p>
<p>“How is he doing?”</p>
<p>“Tired. Sore. Restless. He’s on low activity for a while so that he doesn’t aggravate the repair.”</p>
<p>She shakes her head. “I can’t believe this is happening again.”</p>
<p>“At least we kind of got ourselves into it this time around.” Aziraphale is asleep on the couch and Crowley reaches out to brush his hair off of his forehead.  “Hey Zira, we’ve got visitors. Wake up.” He shakes his shoulder gently as he sets Fern down.</p>
<p>Aziraphale rouses slowly. His pain meds make him sluggish. He smiles sleepily as he comes to. “Hey peanut! Crowley, babe, help me up, will you?”</p>
<p>Crowley gets him upright and Tracy crosses the room to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Hey baby, good to see you’re on the mend. I’ve been worried about you.”</p>
<p>“Thanks Tracy.” He smiles at her, “Hey, you don’t happen to have any of that soup do you?” She pats her bag and winks. “Oh thank god.”</p>
<p>Fern crawls right up next to him on the couch. Snuggles up against him. Aziraphale wraps an arm over her shoulder and hugs her against his good side. She touches his chest carefully and looks up into his face. “The bad man did this?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale looks up at Tracy, confused. She shrugs. “I didn’t say anything.”</p>
<p>He looks back down at Fern. “Yeah. But he won’t be able to hurt anyone else now.” He smiles softly at Crowley. “Papa made sure of that.”</p>
<p>She points at his thigh. ”Your leg too?”</p>
<p>He looks at Tracy again and she puts her hands up. “I swear to God, I didn’t say anything about it. Just that you had a little accident.”</p>
<p>He runs his fingers through her hair. “Yeah. My leg too. But I’m better now. Just a little sore.” She sits up on her knees and wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him. Leans real close and whispers in his ear. His eyes go big then scrunch at the sides and tear up. He looks at Crowley. “I… I love you too, Peanut.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s mouth gets small. He sits on the edge of the couch and he can’t hold back. He blubbers. Points at them and looks at Tracy. “Are you fucking seeing this?! I can’t…” Tracy laughs as Fern releases her grip on Aziraphale and turns to Crowley. Leans in and whispers in his ear too. He scoops her up and laughs and cries and laughs more. “I love you too. I love you so much.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Everyone loves ineffable dads, right?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warning for childbirth. If that brings up anything for you, you can skip down to the line, although there is baby stuff after.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Three years later</em>
</p><p>On August 28 at 10:39 PM Crowley’s phone rings. He glances at Aziraphale and then back at the phone. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”</p><p>Aziraphale stares at him. “Fucking answer it!”</p><p>As Crowley swipes the little green icon up his screen Aziraphale is already on his feet. “I’ll get Fern.”</p><p>Crowley puts the phone to his ear and Aziraphale can hear Beez from across the room. “It’s baby time boys! If you aren’t here in ten minutes we’re getting a Lyft and Anathema will be very fucking cross about that.” They pause and in the background is a long low groan. “Oh fuck… was that four minutes? Two?! Uh… Crowley. You better fucking move.”</p><p>Aziraphale races up the stairs and Crowley grabs the bags waiting by the door. He is surprised when a minute later Fern bounces out to the garage on her own, Aziraphale racing after her. He throws his hands in the air. “She was waiting for it. Jesus Christ how does she <em>always </em>know?!” Crowley tosses him a set of keys.</p><p>“You take the Supra, I’ll pick up Anathema and Beez in the beemer. Meet you there.” He leans over and kisses him. Heart thrashing wildly in his chest. “Holy shit, Aziraphale.”</p><p>Aziraphale nods. “Holy shit indeed.”</p><p>-</p><p>Crowley has already picked up a screeching Anathema and slightly terrified Beez, dropped them at the front doors of the maternity ward, and parked the car by the time Aziraphale pulls up. Fern takes him by the hand and practically drags him toward the hospital. “Come <em>on</em> daddy. We don’t have much time.”</p><p>“Well that sounds ominious.”</p><p>She scrunches her face. “What does ominous mean?”</p><p>Crowley meets them at the door to the birthing suite. “She’s eight inches already. Things are moving fast.” They’ve read all the birthing books and blogs and forums. A million times.</p><p>“Already?! Is it…”</p><p>“Yeah… the midwife is pretty sure it’s precipitous labor. She’s only been having contractions for an hour.”</p><p>“Do they have the tub filled? She really wanted the tub.”</p><p>“Yeah, she’s getting ready to get in. Do you think…” He looks at Fern.</p><p>“They would both kill us if she isn’t there.” Crowley nods.</p><p>They walk into the suite. The lights are dim. There is quiet music playing. Beez is on one side, the midwife on the other, holding Anathema’s hands to steady her as she steps into the warm bath. She gets one foot in and has to stop. Squeezes her eyes shut and groans loudly. Beez wraps an arm around her hips to steady her. A minute later her body relaxes. “They’re too close. It’s too fast.” Her voice quivers. “I can’t…” She looks up and sees three terrified faces staring at her. Even in the deep pain of active labor she smiles. “A hand here?”</p><p>Crowley and Aziraphale rush to her but neither really know what to do. They end up taking an elbow alongside Beez and the midwife and help lower her the rest of the way into the water. She sinks into the water and whimpers then gropes along the edge of the tub. “Where’s Fern?” a small warm hand finds her own. “Are you <em>sure</em> it’s the 29<sup>th</sup>?”</p><p>“Yes.” They all glance at the clock. It is 11:15 pm.</p><p>Anathema’s lip quivers. She looks at Beez. “I don’t know if I can do this for 45 minutes. It’s exhausting. I can’t get a break. There’s no time between…” She squeezes her eyes shut again and yelps.</p><p>Beez lets her squeeze their hand as hard as she needs. When the contraction has passed Beez kisses her knuckles. “You can. You’re strong. You can do this.” Anathema nods but she doesn’t look convinced.</p><p>The midwife gestures to Aziraphale and Crowley. “Ok dads. Focus here. Birth plan goes a little out the window with precipitous labor. But the drill is basically the same. Anathema still doesn’t want any interventions that aren’t strictly necessary. We’ll deliver in the bath unless there is an emergency. Zira, you’re catching baby number one and AJ you’re catching baby number two. Beez cuts the cords. In the meantime, Anathema is the focus. Anything she wants.” They both nod.</p><p>Anathema shifts in the tub to her hands and knees and Crowley reaches into the water to rub her back. To press down on her hips the way the midwife has shown them before. The ends of her hair drag in the water. Aziraphale gathers it up. “Do you want me to pull this back?” She nods as she sways forward and back. “Fern? Hair tie.” She digs into Anathema’s bag, that she helped to pack, and grabs out a tie. She hands it to Aziraphale then digs further and withdraws an opalescent moonstone, a dark green chunk of malachite, and a bright fiery jagged citrine. She sets them on the edge of the tub in front of Anathema.</p><p>Anathema smiles at her between contractions. Reaches out to touch each one. “At least someone is looking out for me. Christ, Fern, what would I do without you.”</p><p>Crowley glares at Beez. “I thought you were in charge of that stuff.”</p><p>Beez rolls their eyes. “Hard to remember when your wife is screaming in pain.”</p><p>Anathema glares. “Does it sound like I’m screaming? I’m not fucking screaming.” Another contraction hits and she does something just shy of screaming.</p><p>For the next forty-five minutes the contractions continue. Anathema shifts around and stands and sits and squats. And Beez and Crowley and Aziraphale and Fern revolve around her like planets circling the sun. At times she wants all of their hands on her and their affirmations and reassurances and at others she wants them to do nothing but get the fuck away. And so they ebb and flow from the rim of the tub. At 12:01 her eyes snap open and her body starts shivering. “I think.. I think it’s time.”</p><p>The midwife positions Aziraphale where he needs to be and Beez and Crowley take her hands. In between pushing Fern brushes her hair off her forehead. Whispers to her in a way that only Fern can. The only person Anathema could possibly want in her ear at the moment. As the first baby crowns Aziraphale can only stare. Crowley is so focused on Anathema that he doesn’t notice until Aziraphale speaks. “I can… I can see her head… Anathema, you’re almost there. Oh my god you’re doing so well. You’re amazing.” Crowley’s face is a mixture of awe and panic as the midwife guides Aziraphale’s hands into the water. As the baby moves further she twists her to fit through the birth canal, tilting her tiny shoulders. It all happens slowly until suddenly everything speeds up and the baby is slipping out fully into the water and Aziraphale’s waiting hands.</p><p>He slowly lifts the tiny infant. “Oh my god… oh my god…” He is barely aware of the commotion in front of him. Of Beez cutting the cord. Of Anathema crying. Of Crowley crying. He can only stare at the tiny, scrunched face in front of him as she sucks in her first breath and screeches. He realizes the midwife is talking to him and looks up.</p><p>“....she’s going to help you get baby one cleaned up. AJ, dear, you’re up. Anathema, the hard part is over. Just a little bit more. You’re doing great. We’re going to start pushing again. Breathe with me.” Aziraphale stares as the nurse gently takes the screaming infant to clean and weigh and measure. Seven minutes later a second baby girl falls into Crowley’s hands and his face looks nearly identical to Aziraphale’s as he draws her up out of the water and into the air for the first time. Anathema collapses against the edge of the tub. Fern follows baby number two and the nurse, and Crowley and Aziraphale return to Anathema’s side. She smiles at them as they ready themselves to help her through the rest of the process. To deliver the afterbirth. To help her out of the tub and dry her off and dress her and tuck her into bed. As much as they want to be cradling their daughters, they owe Anathema this and so much more. As soon as she is comfortable they bring her the two squirming, purple, cone headed little things and she smiles at them and tears up and runs her fingers over their cheeks and laughs as they root around in response.</p><p>She puts them to her breast and lets them drink and Fern curls up next to her and inspects their tiny fingers and noses until she falls asleep. When they are done the midwife hands Crowley and Aziraphale a baby each and they sit side by side next to Anathema and Fern and they are terrified and unsure and completely undone with love. It fills the room to the brim. It is so strong that they can feel it vibrating in the air. The midwife smiles. “Those are two lucky little girls.” She eyes Fern, snuggled up against Anathema. “Make that three lucky little girls. Do we have names picked out?”</p><p>Aziraphale looks at Crowley and smiles. Crowley glances at the midwife then back down at the slumbering bundles. “Myrtle and Willow.”</p><p>She chuckles softly. “Raising up a whole garden, I see.”</p><p>Aziraphale nods. Remembers a proverb. “Life begins the day you start a garden.”</p>
<hr/><p>As the sun peeks over the horizon and begins to illuminate the suite Aziraphale creeps to the edge of the bassinet on tip toe. Anathema has just fallen back to sleep after an early morning feeding. The girls are swaddled up tight next to one another between her and the spot where he and Crowley had spent the night. Fern is curled up with Beez on a little couch on the far end of the suite. It is quiet in the room. Only the subtle sounds of seven sets of lungs breathing in and out. He reaches out and lets his fingers graze over one grumpy little face. Then another. He hasn’t slept. All night he has fussed over their delicate little bodies and unswaddled and reswaddled and held and rocked and loved them. Marveled at their full heads of hair. Wild and wavy and red just like Crowley. Panicked at the thought of trimming their little nails. Been amazed by the volume that their tiny lungs can reach. He is completely overwhelmed by the idea that soon they will be taking them home. On their own.</p><p>Behind him Crowley stirs, reaches out to find the space beside him empty. He doesn’t panic anymore. There was a period of time where anytime that he woke up alone he would think, for a split second, that the doctors and nurses hadn’t been able to resuscitate Aziraphale. That he had lost him that day. That everything since then had just been a dream. But he’d had time to heal.</p><p>He stretches. Sits up. Rubs at the kink in his shoulder that he doesn’t know will stick around for many months. A reminder in his body of the time spent cradling two demanding infants. He stands and wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s waist from behind. Rests his chin on his shoulder. Whispers into his ear. “Can you believe it?”</p><p>Aziraphale shakes his head. They stand together and stare down into the basinet. “They look so much like you.”</p><p>Crowley smiles. “Well let’s hope they get prettier then.”</p><p>Aziraphale laughs quietly. Turns his face to give Crowley a kiss. “I don’t know if you can get much prettier.”</p><p>“They are so tiny. Every time I touch them I’m afraid they’ll break.” As if on cue, Willow’s little face scrunches. She huffs. Crowley slips around Aziraphale and scoops her up carefully. He’s been just as bad as Aziraphale all night. Fluttering around and tugging their little caps down over the tips of their ears. Bugging the nurses about how long they’ll need to stay before they can take them home. Combing Anathema’s hair while she struggles to breastfeed. Laughs with her when she expresses relief that she doesn’t have to do this long and teases him about the late nights coming soon.</p><p>He shushes his daughter and bounces around the room. As he passes by Fern and Beez, Fern wakes up too. She rubs the sleep from her eyes and smiles up at Crowley. She has been asleep most of the night. Lasting through wailing babies and late-night feedings and nurse check ins and a ravenous Anathema snarfing down an obscene number of fast food burgers at two in the morning. “Do you want to hold her?” Fern nods excitedly and sits up and Aziraphale crosses the room to pile some pillows around her. He is overly cautious. Fern shares a look with Crowley that Aziraphale ignores. Crowley kneels down and cradles her head and helps Fern situate her in her arms. “This is Willow.”</p><p>She gazes down at the infant. Proud. “I <em>know</em>. Good morning Willow.” The baby settles when she hears Fern’s voice. Across the room a second whimper draws Aziraphale back to the basinet. He picks up Myrtle and crosses back to Fern and Crowley. Fern rocks Willow carefully. Leans closer and whispers to her. “Welcome to the family. It’s the best one.” </p><p>-</p><p>“Oh Anathema! Beez! It’s beautiful!” Aziraphale stares at the framed photo. Beside him Crowley sniffs and wipes at his eyes. “When did you even take this?” In the photo Aziraphale stands holding a little swaddled bundle. Beside him Fern sits staring down at one of her sisters, cradled carefully in her arms. Crowley is kneeling next to her, smiling up at Aziraphale who is gazing back at him with teary eyes. The early morning sun casts everything in a dreamy golden hue.</p><p>“Snapped it on my phone the morning they were born. Woke up and saw you four and managed to get a picture before the hormones hit me and I started crying for the millionth time.”</p><p>Aziraphale can’t take his eyes off of it. “Thank you so much. Seriously. I love this. It’s going up in here today. And I want another copy to hang back home too.”</p><p>Anathema beams. Bounces a four-month-old baby on her knee. “Merry Christmas.”</p><p>Aziraphale turns to Crowley who has gone completely wilty next to him. Myrtle has her fingers tangled up in a loose wave that now reaches down to the middle of his back. “They’re getting big so fast. Look at their tiny noses.”</p><p>The last few months have been a haze of sleepless nights and first grade science projects and dance classes and soccer practice and running a used and rare books shop that is better at laundering money than actually selling books. Crowley spends his days with the twins while Aziraphale runs the shop and doctors the books and manages their investments. He leaves the shop under the care of a well paid employee or closes up early and picks Fern up at school and then his second shift starts so Crowley can grab a shower or go for a run (that he used to hate and now looks forward to every day). They see Tracy and Anathema and Beez most weeks for Sunday brunch. Tracy reads tarot for everyone and has been teaching Fern the Major Arcana. Anathema either reads everyone’s tea leaves or goes the exact opposite direction and rants about some newly published scientific study. Beez and Crowley and Aziraphale drink ungodly amounts of booze dressed up in cocktails that are somehow appropriate to drink at eleven AM as long as it is served alongside a hollandaise sauce or a waffle. </p><p>Any spare waking moment, few and far between, has been spent on the phone with suppliers and their contractor for the desert house. Or online ordering furniture and a second kitchen’s worth of cooking implements and then a smaller, third kitchen’s worth of cooking implements for the guest house. They barely squeaked by and got the last linens delivered at the final hour and then spent several hours bouncing wailing twin babies up and down the aisle of the airplane and apologizing to everyone else on the flight. Half of the passengers glare at them and the other half look on in sympathy. As soon as the wheels hit the tarmac both babies fall immediately asleep and Crowley cries in frustration right there in front of everyone while they disembark around them. Aziraphale squeezes his hand and Fern kisses his cheek and braids his hair and the flight attendant leans against the seat in front of him and tells him a story of her own infant screaming for hours on end during a transatlantic flight and by the time they finally gather up all of the toys and the tablet and bottles and blankies Crowley is smiling again.</p><p>Anathema and Beez show up the next day and volunteer to watch the twins while Crowley and Aziraphale and Fern go for a long wintery ride in the truck. Crowley puts Fern on his lap and lets her steer while he works the peddles and teaches her about the gear shift. He is determined that she’ll be able to rebuild an engine before she is 16 and that she’ll outdrive him one day (<em>she will do both</em>). They take a short snowy hike and marvel at the petroglyphs etched into stone thousands of years ago. Aziraphale is determined to teach Fern about the history of the land. To introduce her to the groups that it belongs to and to understand the atrocities that have shaped their lives (<em>She will learn more about it than he could ever imagine. Although it is her sisters that will grow up to be stewards of these lands and fight to protect them.</em>)</p><p>Back home, warm and cozy by the fireplace, they look out over the desert and sip hot cocoa and stack gifts under the Christmas tree. And in the morning they wake up to fresh snowfall and Fern calls Tracy and makes everyone gather round to wish her a Merry Christmas. Eventually they fold and let Fern rip open her Christmas presents. It is a strange assortment of gifts, but they are a strange assortment, so it really makes sense.</p><p>After they finish opening presents Anathema pumps and Crowley stares at her in awe. “You know you don’t have to keep doing that, right? We can transition them to formula. You’re really going beyond anything we could ever ask for. You never had to do that at <em>all</em>.”</p><p>She just shrugs. “Feels like a waste. Why bother with formula when you’ve got the stuff right here. Free of charge.” She looks deep in concentration for a minute. Looks around the room. Beez is handily beating Fern at a game of chess next to the fireplace and Aziraphale is in the kitchen sticking a roast in the oven. She leans over and whispers to Crowley. “We’ll need to transition them in a few months though.” He raises a brow. “Hard to get pregnant when you’re nursing.”</p><p>His brows shoot up the rest of the way. “Oh my god! Already?!”</p><p>She shrugs. “Might as well get it all out of my system at once. The baby body is already here. Ride that wave right into number two. Well.. Number three I guess. It better just be the one this time, though.”</p><p>“I want to hug you but…” He gestures to the cups protruding from her chest and she laughs.</p><p>“Later.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I woke up this morning, weeks after posting this,  and it popped into my head that David Tennant's dog is named Myrtle... Complete coincidence. I promise! 😆 (Also, why was his dog the first thing I thought of when I woke up?!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the evening, when Beez and Anathema have retired to the guest house and Fern is in bed and they finally get the twins down Crowley and Aziraphale sprawl out on their bed together.</p><p>Crowley runs his hands under his hair so that it splays out around his head like a halo. “Did you ever imagine, at sixteen or at nineteen or even three years ago, that this is how things would turn out?”</p><p>Aziraphale laughs. “Not in a million years. Never.”</p><p>Crowley turns toward Aziraphale. “I’m so glad it did though. Turn out this way.”</p><p>“Me too.” He smiles softly and reaches out for Crowley. “C’mere.” Crowley grins and rolls closer to Aziraphale, fingers finding the hem of his sweater, ankles tangling up together. He brings their lips together and smiles into the kiss. It is hard to find time for intimacy with newborns. Twins at that. But they manage here and there. A quickie in the backseat of their car like teenagers. Except now the car is parked in their garage and there is a baby monitor sitting on the dash. In the morning when the girls nap and Fern is at school and Aziraphale opens the shop late. Late at night when everyone is asleep and they have just enough energy to show each other that they still can’t resist one another.</p><p>Aziraphale pushes Crowley’s shirt up over his head and runs his hands over his chest. Bends down to kiss the hollow of his throat and then the curve of his collarbone. As he drags his lips over his sternum Crowley reaches down and pulls his shirt up and off, sending his hair sticking up in all directions. As his mouth returns to Crowley’s chest, Crowley gets his fingers wrapped up in those soft blond curls. He pulls his head up with his fists and kisses him again on the lips. Presses their hips together. Groans quietly into his mouth. Aziraphale’s breathing is getting         ragged already as they grind against one another. His breath is hot where it has returned to Crowley’s chest. His lips encircling a nipple and sucking it into his mouth and teasing with his tongue until Crowley is arching his back deeply toward him. His hands fumble for Aziraphale’s belt and zipper and he pushes everything down at once, using his foot to push between his ankles and slip everything off over his feet. Aziraphale does the same to Crowley as he moves his mouth to the opposite nipple.</p><p>Crowley flips them both over and slides down between Aziraphale’s legs. His mouth exploring Aziraphale’s thighs. It passes over that small scar. Aziraphale’s newest addition. Deceptive in size. Who would have known that something so little could have cost them everything? He lingers a moment. Kisses it gently. Then moves on. Up and in until his lips brush against the coarse hair between Aziraphale’s legs. Aziraphale reaches down and gathers up Crowley’s long hair. Wraps it around his fist tightly until Crowley groans. He runs his tongue up the underside of Aziraphale’s cock and then around the head. He looks up to see Aziraphale staring down at him. Chest rising and falling rapidly. “Use me.”</p><p>Aziraphale grins. Guides Crowley’s mouth and rocks his hips. Slowly at first. But not necessarily gently. He presses his hips up at the same time he presses down with his fist. Can feel himself slide into Crowley’s throat and back out again. Crowley resists his gag reflex. Lets his eyes fall closed. Grinds his hips down into the mattress while his fingertips dig into Aziraphale’s thighs.</p><p>“God I love your mouth. <em>Fuck</em>.” Crowley doesn’t want him to stop. He would be happy to do this all night. Watch every little twitch and shudder and pull out every little breathy stifled moan. Feel his pulse race. That wild proof of life that for a moment was lost, but that now beats faster and faster under his fingers. Aziraphale’s eyes pop open. He yanks Crowley’s head up and off of him. “Oh fuck… I didn’t… did you pack lube? Oh goddamn. Did we forget lube? I packed thirty onesies and not a single bottle of lube?!” </p><p>Crowley snorts. “Relax baby. I’ve got you.” He reaches up and pulls open his nightstand and Aziraphale throws his head back and cackles. It is packed front to back with long narrow bottles and in the very front of the drawer is a familiar looking little plug.</p><p>“Oh fuck, AJ is that what I think it is?” Crowley smirks and nods and in the blink of an eye he finds himself on his back, broad palms spreading his thighs wide. Aziraphale jams a bottle of lube into one of his hands and the plug into the other and scrambles for his phone. “Fuck… What was that app called?” He swipes through his phone.  “Ah, here it is.” He presses the button and the plug surges to life in Crowley’s palm. “Sometimes I wish that you had a vagina so I could use this on you while I fucked you.” He turns it back off.</p><p>Crowley laughs as he squeezes some lube out onto the toy obediently. “You are fucking ridiculous.” He pauses for a moment. “I could… fuck you while it’s inside me… That’s pretty close, right?”</p><p>Aziraphale smiles. Snatches the toy and presses it against Crowley. Works it slowly. Pressing in a little deeper each time. Stretching him a little further. He leans down and takes Crowley into his mouth while he teases him with the widest part of the plug. Withdrawing it just before it pops in all the way. Enjoying the way he can feel Crowley’s cock twitch between his lips as he is stretched to its widest extent.</p><p>Crowley’s head shifts from side to side. His fingers dig into the mattress and he groans. “Fucking tease.”</p><p>Aziraphale finally pushes the toy all the way in and Crowley’s lower back sinks back toward the mattress. “Sit up. Against the headboard.” He helps Crowley scoot up to the headboard and straddles his thighs. Lubes up his own fingers and dips them under himself while he reaches for the phone with the other hand.</p><p>“Don’t you want to wait unt… uhhh ahh fucking… <em>fuck!</em>” Crowley’s head hits the wall above the headboard. “Down… down. Turn it down. Oh fuck.” Aziraphale presses the phone into Crowley’s hand as he rocks on his own fingers, head thrown back. Crowley scrambles to turn the little digital dial to something more reasonable and his body relaxes. “Holy shit, we were using that thing at a <em>nine</em>?! How the fuck…”</p><p>Aziraphale reaches up and wraps his hand gently around the base of Crowley’s throat. “Shut the fuck up and help me out here.”</p><p>Crowley groans. He likes it when Aziraphale gets demanding. He slips a hand under Aziraphale and replaces his fingers with his own. Thrusts up into him and scissors his fingers. “Oh god, you’re so much better at this than me. More…” As Crowley slips another finger into him he reaches down and wraps his hand around Crowley’s cock. Coats him generously and scoots forward to take him. He sinks down quickly. Quicker than he should and the stretch aches but he can’t get enough of it. His eyes roll up. “Oh… I can.. I can feel the vibrations. In your cock. <em>Oh</em>…”</p><p>The weight of Aziraphale’s body presses Crowley down into the mattress and, subsequently, the plug deeper inside of him. “Angel… I’m… I’m not gonna last long.” Aziraphale is already moving on top of him, grinding his hips back and forth.</p><p>“Just a little while. I know you can. <em>Fuck</em>. Just… not yet.” His hips move faster.</p><p>Crowley grips his ass to help lift him and guide him back down. The plug rumbles away inside of him and his heart races. He can feel his orgasm curling up low in his groin. “Angel. Oh Jesus.”</p><p>Aziraphale moves faster. Harder. Tilts his hips back. “Not yet. Just… just think of the plane ride we’re going to need to take a in a week.”</p><p>Crowley can’t focus. “What?” He squints. Thinks. Remembers the flight down. “Oh Jesus. Fucking boner killer.”</p><p>Aziraphale laughs. “That’s what we’re going for here.” His legs shake every time he lifts himself up off of Crowley’s lap. “More… I need more.” Crowley grabs his prick and starts to pump him, thumb brushing over the tip. His other hand swings wide and meets Aziraphale’s ass with a sharp crack. “Oh <em>fuck</em>! Do that again. Harder.” He does it again and Aziraphale tries to stifle a moan as he comes. Crowley grips his hip tight and thrusts up into him until Aziraphale is slumping forward and Crowley can’t keep his own orgasm at bay any longer. He folds forward, head resting against Aziraphale’s heaving chest. As he comes down from the burst of pleasure he scrambles for the phone again.</p><p>“Oh god, turn it off. Fuck. Too much!” They both devolve into laughter as he wiggles and scrambles to unlock the phone’s screen. He yanks Aziraphale’s hand up and tries desperately to get his index finger onto the little circle on the back of the phone. They are both laughing hard enough that it takes longer than it should. Crowley finally gets the app open and turns off the vibrations and slumps against the headboard, still giggling.</p><p>-</p><p>Crowley feels the edge of the bed sink. Even though he doesn’t open his eyes he can feel that someone is close. Can feel the tickle of hair on his cheek. “Dad.” He groans.  “Daddy.” He scrunches his face. “Papa!” His eyes finally pop open. Fern’s face is just inches in front of his. Big hazel eyes illuminated by the first rays of morning light.</p><p>“Hmm? What is it baby?” He reaches out and brushes her hair back. “Did you have a bad dream?”</p><p>“Anathema wants to know if you want coffee or tea.”</p><p>He blinks. Furrows his brow and looks at the clock. Gropes behind him until his hand bumps into Aziraphale, who grumbles in response. “Zira. Sorry, I slept through it. It was my night. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Aziraphale flops over. “Hmm?”</p><p>Fern pokes at Crowley “Coffee or tea?”</p><p>Crowley turns to face Aziraphale. “I didn’t hear the girls wake up. You should have poked me.”</p><p>Aziraphale stares. “I didn’t get up last night. I thought you…” His eyes go wide.</p><p>Fern gives up on Crowley. “Daddy. Do you want tea or coffee?”</p><p>Crowley stares back. “Did they… oh my god.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiles. “They slept through the night. The whole night.”</p><p>“I mean… either that or…”</p><p>“Shut. Up. Don’t even joke. They slept all night.”</p><p>Fern climbs up on top of Crowley. “Papa…”</p><p>He looks up at her. “You know. Daddy told me that girls have one more rib than boys. I think he’s full of it. But we should probably count just to make sure.” He grabs her by the sides and starts tickling. “One!” She squeals and flails. “Two!” She flops onto the bed between them trying to wriggle away. “Daddy, help me out here! I’ll never get a good count like this!”</p><p>Aziraphale rolls over. “I’ve got at least two on this side.”</p><p>She screeches and rolls off the end of the bed and runs back toward the kitchen. Aziraphale smiles after her then turns to Crowley. “We should probably go check on them.”</p><p>They emerge from the bedroom to find Beez sprawled out on the floor with Myrtle and Willow. They are holding Myrtle above their face while Willow grabs at their shirt and giggles at her sister suspended above her. Anathema is filling two coffee mugs in the kitchen. “Fern said you two wouldn’t make up your minds, so I went with coffee.”</p><p>Crowley bounces into the kitchen. More well rested than he has been in four months. “Anathema. They slept all night. First time. <em>All </em>night. Did you bring some good witchy sleepy time woo woo with you? Because I’m going to need some of that to take back home.”</p><p>She laughs. “Must just be that desert energy. Ooh. Did you hear the coyotes this morning? Must have been a whole pack of them. Right outside.”</p><p>Crowley beams. “Not at all. I was dead to the world. It was glorious.”</p><p>“Must have really worn yourself out last night.”</p><p>Crowley glances toward Fern and then back at Anathema. “What do you mean?”</p><p>She leans close and whispers. “Your baby monitor goes both ways. You forgot to switch it back to one way only before sexy time.”</p><p>His eyes go big. “Oh…”</p><p>She laughs. “I realized that we forgot Beez’s laptop so I snuck back over. Don’t worry, I switched the setting back. No one else needed to hear what, admittedly, sounded like a very good time. I mean… damn. Good to know life doesn’t end with kids.”</p><p>-</p><p>The flight home goes far better than the previous. The girls sleep and Fern watches a movie and instead of angry glares they get oohs and ahhs and “how cutes” from a handful of passengers. That same flight attendant is working the return flight and brings them both a complimentary cocktail with a wink.</p><p>Fern falls asleep on the drive back from O’hare and Aziraphale has to carry her inside while Crowley brings in both car seats. They both decide in that moment that they’ve never been more in love with one another. Aziraphale eyes his bag where that little plug is packed away safe and sound just in time for the girls to wake up. They don’t sleep through the night <em>every</em> night. By the time he gets them changed and back down Crowley is snoring and he crawls behind him and snuggles close.</p><p>In the morning he finds Fern tucked up in between them, wrapped up tight in Crowley’s arms. Crowley is already awake. He whispers to Aziraphale, “bad dream.” Fern still has them from time to time. She hardly even remembers why anymore, but that doesn’t stop her from reliving the trauma in her sleep. She’ll keep crawling into their bed with decreasing frequency until she is sixteen years old. And they will always let her. When she is a grown woman, away at college, she will sometimes call them up in the middle of the night and they will sit with her and talk with her and wish they could teleport to her dorm room. Aziraphale reaches out and brushes his thumb across her cheek and smiles at Crowley.</p><p>A few hours later Tracy knocks on the door and Fern nearly knocks her over with a hug. “Hey baby! I missed you at Christmas time. Here, I brought your gifts. Be a dear and take these inside for me.”</p><p>Aziraphale greets her with a kiss on the cheek while Crowley finishes changing the diaper of a squirming fussy baby. Tracy reaches out and takes Willow from Aziraphale’s hip. “Hey Tracy, thanks again for taking care of all the critters while we were away. Can you believe I let Crowley get <em>another</em> cat? Eve doesn’t even like him. Won’t let him get close to the girls, poor thing.”</p><p>Tracy laughs. “He’s a lot like me, your man. Always good at collecting strays.” She winks at him. “So how long is your, ah, engagement, this afternoon?”</p><p>Aziraphale shrugs as Crowley approaches. “Hopefully just a couple of hours.”</p><p>She glances at Fern unloading gifts across the room. “And does Fern know?”</p><p>He shakes his head. “No. Well.. I mean. We haven’t told her anything. But you know Fern. She always knows somehow.”</p><p>Crowley leans in to give Tracy a kiss. “She had a nightmare last night.”</p><p>Tracy smiles softly. “She knows. She doesn’t know it yet. But she does. You need to tell her. She’s old enough now. She’ll be mad if she has to ask you. And woo baby you know that temper. You’d think she was yours, Anthony. Biologically I mean. And she holds a grudge just as well as the both of you.”</p><p>Crowley sighs. “I know, I know. We’ll talk to her tonight.”</p><p>She bounces Willow and tickles her until she is giggling. “Happiest babies I’ve ever seen.”</p><p>Aziraphale laughs. “Yeah… you should have seen them on the flight out west. Little demons. Screamed for four hours.”</p><p>“Nah, they’re angels.” She reaches out to tickle Myrtle too. “Sorry again I couldn’t make it down. I promised Shadwell we’d do the holidays with his family this year. Next year, though, dears. I promise.”</p><p>Crowley and Aziraphale gather their things and distribute goodbye kisses and climb into the car. They don’t have to drive far before they pull into the parking lot under the retro vacancy sign. The pull their collars up and hurry inside out of the winter weather.</p><p>“You’re late.”</p><p>Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “You try doing anything on time with twins. Thank god we didn’t bring them. Would have been another hour before we showed up.”</p><p>She laughs. “Did you bring pictures?”</p><p>Crowley whips his phone out. “Always.” He sits down at the little table and scrolls through an endless number of photos. Many of them taken in rapid succession.</p><p>“Oh, is this the new house? It’s beautiful.”</p><p>“Yeah, we managed to get everything finished up just in time to go down for Christmas. It was nice. Quiet.”</p><p>She points at the screen. “And Beez and Anathema? How are they doing?”</p><p>Aziraphale sits down and pulls out a leather journal. “They’re doing well. Work is good. Anathema is doing well after the birth. She’s still pumping for us though. I feel bad. That can’t be particularly pleasant. Producing milk for someone else’s babies.”</p><p>“She loves those babies more than she loves you two. And she really loves you two.”</p><p>Crowley clears his throat. “She’s uh… She’s thinking of stopping. Apparently breastfeeding hampers ovulation?”</p><p>They both turn to look at him, surprised. “You didn’t hear it from me though!”</p><p>Aziraphale swats at him. “Oh my god I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! I can’t believe <em>she </em>didn’t tell me.”</p><p>Crowley changes the subject. “Anyway! Back to business.”</p><p>She opens a folder and spins it around. Pushes it across the table. “So we were finally able to narrow down the missing kids. It isn’t a long list, but any number is too many.”</p><p>Crowley swallows and looks away from the file. “How many?”</p><p>“Seven.”</p><p>Aziraphale takes the folder. “Seven.” He flips through the files. Takes a page and rips it in half and sticks it in his journal. “Six. She stays out of it. Always.”</p><p>She nods. “Six.”</p><p>“She was the youngest. The rest of the kids were a little older. Girls and boys. A couple of them have actually already been recovered. That leaves four that are still missing.”</p><p>Crowley clenches his jaw. “Four kids that are still out there. I’m going to be sick.”</p><p>Aziraphale cuts in. “Were the most recent fosters real?”</p><p>She smiles. “They were.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s eyes snap up. “They’re real?”</p><p>“As you and me.”</p><p>“How the fuck did no one notice <em>seven</em> kids allegedly dying in their care.”</p><p>“Because they aren’t the only ones involved.” She taps on the fake autopsy reports and the social worker signatures.</p><p>Crowley stares at the names. Memorizes them. “His network was huge.”</p><p>She nods. “Twenty-three officers or staff related to Chicago PD went down with the work you did. And that barely scratches the surface. In the past three years we’ve uncovered connections all across the city. Alderman. Judges. City Council. The DA.”</p><p>Aziraphale continues to stare at the photographs in front of him. “And they’ve been going down.”</p><p>She nods again. “And now we’ve got connections at the coroner and in DCFS. And they are going down next.”</p><p>Aziraphale takes his time to look at each photo. At each name. At each fraudulent death certificate. “Is he talking?”</p><p>“Not a word. He is scared of someone. And someone other than Luke. We’re pretty sure that she was the only one that went to him. And even then, she wasn’t <em>for</em> Luke.” Crowley bristles at the implication.</p><p>“So there is someone out there worse than Luke?” Aziraphale remembers the intel they’d uncovered on him before Crowley went into that seedy little club. How terrified he had been to be so far away while he was doing it. How quickly that all went out the window when he’d opened that simple hook and eye lock and Fern had been thrust into their lives. He’s spent the past three years trying very hard not to imagine what may have happened to her had Crowley not been there that day. Or if he’d listened to Beez and Aziraphale and left without looking into that quiet little whimper across the room. Asking Crowley to walk away is the biggest regret of his life. He’ll never be able to thank Crowley enough for ignoring him. For going with his gut instead.</p><p>He can’t avoid it now. He has to wipe at his eyes as he thinks of where she would be now. Where those other kids are. If they are even alive. He can’t decide which fate would be kinder for them. Crowley takes his hand and squeezes it. Smiles with just half of his mouth.</p><p>“Someone worse than Luke. I shudder to imagine. He hasn’t been on our radar at all.”</p><p>Crowley continues to hold Aziraphale’s hand. They both feel the weight of those children’s lives on their shoulders. “So we’re going to put him on the radar?”</p><p>“That is the plan.”</p><p>“Any thoughts on who this guy is?”</p><p>“Actually… I think it might be more than one guy.”</p><p>Crowley tilts a brow. “How many?”</p><p>She chews at her lip. “Ok. Look. There is this… mythos of sorts. In the PD. The four horsemen.”</p><p>Aziraphale scoffs. “The horsemen don’t exist.” Crowley looks at him for explanation. “It is this… this boogeyman story that they tell new recruits. Four powerful people that run the city. Like really run it. They run the mayor and the police and the gangs and the mob. Everything that happens between the reach of New York and L.A. They run the red states. The swing states. Decide elections. That kind of stuff. But it isn’t real. It is just rumors. Stories.”</p><p>She presses her lips together tightly. “It isn’t just stories.” Aziraphale looks at her unconvinced. She glances around the room. Sighs. “Solomon wasn’t only looking into Gabriel. Gabriel was just the weak link. The highest rung on the ladder before things really started to get interesting. And I warned him. Every day. I warned him not to go higher. That I might… I might be able to protect him from Gabriel, but my reach didn’t go any further. And he just kept digging and digging and I begged him to leave it. They left him this on Wednesday and on Thursday he was dead.” She pulls a small card out of her pocket. It is crinkled and worn with age. A white crown, a red sword, a black set of scales, and a pale green scythe arranged in a line. “They left this and I never saw him again.” She wipes at her eyes. Clears her throat. “They were taunting us. Playing up the myth. I don’t know who they are, but they exist. Solomon had coded info. He kept it in a safe deposit box in a little town out in the middle of nowhere.” She plunks a key on top of the card. “We can pick it up. Or we can leave it. I wouldn’t ask… I wouldn’t want to put the girls in danger.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s mouth is agape. “Why didn’t you mention this sooner? Michaels, we should have been looking into this for three years instead of going after low hanging fruit.”</p><p>“I told you. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. I can protect all of you from the low hanging fruit. But I don’t know if I can protect you from this. I couldn’t protect Solomon. I couldn’t even avenge his death.”</p><p>Aziraphale stares at the file. At the names in front of him. At the four kids. If it is four then it is a hundred. And if it is a hundred it is a thousand. He thinks of his girls. “Today, we go after the coroner and the social worker and the foster family. We need to talk about it before we decide anything else.”</p><p>She nods. “Take your time.”</p><p>-</p><p>Back in their cozy little bungalow Tracy hands over the twins and Crowley bounces one on each hip as Aziraphale picks up toys and tosses them into a bin next to the couch. He remembers when he and Crowley used to leave bottles of lube and half packed bowls on the coffee table. When they ordered in every other night and sat on the couch instead of at the dining room table. These days the lube hides away in the nightstand that Fern knows is off limits and the weed is packed up tight in a jar on the highest shelf of their closet. Which is also off limits. They are sure to sit and eat dinner as a family every night. With no phones or tablets or tv. Fern tells them about her day and they <em>listen</em>.</p><p>They want to give her and Willow and Myrtle the life they weren’t lucky enough to have as kids. They don’t want them to grow up stealing cars and shoplifting from the corner store. They want their first sip of beer to be from their bottle at a backyard bbq. If they want to rebel as teenagers and experiment, they want them to feel safe enough to do it at home. Or at least trust them enough to call them if they need to. They talk about everything. They are open and honest and they hope the girls will extend them the same courtesy. So when they sit down for dinner that night they tell Fern everything. Within reason. And when they finish she just looks at them for a long time before she speaks.</p><p>“If they’d been there. With me. Would you have taken them home too?”</p><p>Crowley furrows his brow. “Of course I would have. I <em>wish</em> they had been there that day.”</p><p>“You would have saved them too?”</p><p>Aziraphale reaches out and takes her hand. “Of course we would have saved them too.”</p><p>She looks between them. “Then why wouldn’t you save them now?”</p><p>“That’s what we want to do, Peanut. That’s what we’re going to try to do.”</p><p>“But the bad guys will still be out there.”</p><p>Aziraphale looks to Crowley for help and he jumps in. “We’re just not sure if it safe to go after these bad guys.”</p><p>“But… Why wouldn’t they just do it again? Somewhere else?”</p><p>Crowley looks back at Aziraphale and smiles softly. “She’s right. We can save these kids and they just move their operation. Or get better at covering their tracks.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowns. “So it’s decided?”</p><p>“She’s always our tie breaker. From the kitchen tile to the prospect of taking on the four horsemen.”</p><p>Aziraphale glances around the table. At his husband who he loves more than life itself. And his daughters. One already so grown up. Giving him a look that he would recognize in a mirror. At the twins. So fresh and new and innocent. Little miniature Crowley’s smashing pureed bananas through their chubby little fingers. He imagines the world he wants them to grow up in. The world he wants to give them.</p><p>That night, when the girls are dreaming, he and Crowley hold each other tight and set the phone on the bed in front of them and put it on speaker. Michaels picks up after one ring. Crowley squeezes Aziraphale’s hand and smiles at him.  “Alright. Let’s do this.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Our final installment! (I'm not crying!) Thank you to everyone who took the time to stick with this all the way to the end and to everyone who left comments. I've really appreciated all of your kind words. 🖤</p><p>I'm (very recently) on twitter now. Is that still a thing people do? Come do whatever the hell it is people do on twitter. But with me. @snae_b</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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